Heatstroke

outside the world is screaming
for water. Life is bursting—flowers climactic, orgasm-
ic things, their petals dripping, gooey with plant blood.
the air is holding a cloth to my face
covered in atmosphere

it’s the end of all things,
the birth of all things.

my feet kick stones that are wetter than the grass,
slick with memory of forgotten riverbeds.

i have known the sorrow of these friends,
the gnawing behind the eyes that can’t be diagnosed.
i’m being torn in half like a split pine log
drowning sap, spineless lifeform.

high heat is labor incarnate.
the door opens and out I spill
afterbirth born from eyesockets torn,
rendered unconscious by warmth.

the end of all
the birth of all

picked apart by the vultures at dawn
the yardsale ladies size me up
with their price-guns and brooched breasts

the spine is a horrible thing to waste.

brave little toaster cries crumbs &
sidewalk lines like calendar kisses *&*

my brain is an intestine that can solve math problems.

end all
birth of

Heatstroke

Image credit: https://flic.kr/p/TcpJMW (licensed under Public Domain)

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