i’ve evolved from spitfoam into hearth-iron ribs
trapped between septic fingers and lost doors.
one gummy eye used to be the rasp moon,
the other a varnished cloud.
i’ve created ants and snow in a womb
for licking, cloying death.
for freezing, for festering age,
years. rafts of web on web.
i scream in a locked room.
where only i am dreaming of being me.
to accumulate in wrinkles that are parenthesis
around your matchwood mouth or baby horns between
the swale of brow-felt.
the hole that gullets its teeth.
samantha lucero 2017 ©
