remembering the language: an exercise in self-mutilation

waiting
for something in the
insincere october sunlight
but nothing comes
and i begin to feel
like pollock

walls and weights and
the blood of ghosts until
the only option is to drown

until the churches are
all on fire
and my children starving

[i]my children starving[/i]

i will teach them to
eat the flesh of god before
i let it come to that