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Thursday, February 3, 2011


she can see herself
in the contellation of scars
pucture wounds in her arms
the muffled cries of her newborn
slit shaped cuts
in the form of a question mark
in the shade of her heart
a sound seeing tear
mechanical noises
from a child's toy
flailing arms like an infant
grasping at the curtain
which obscures the moon
and stars.

she comes to believe that the soul
of her dead baby, whose body is left
blue in an abandoned crib
has inhabited the disposed
robotic toy collected by her junkie roommate
in the gutter by the shade of her heart

she rocks it in her arms
and believes it can cry
that it can reach, even for her
whose kleenex is spotted in red
despite the yellowness of her glimmer

in an abandoned crib
in an abandoned house
the souls of the abandoned
abandon their bodies

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