The day has no itemized list but it must be completed

Lacking heat, I line my ribs with decorative votives, light them, and forget to say a prayer. A service of lips reading words that slide away like the difference between beeswax and paraffin. Somewhere above my kidneys, I create faith from drips of wax, chant the litany of internal organs, let flame burn out my bones. Let’s make cups of tea for the sacrament of procrastination: it is fully a list of tasks and fully a list of daydreams. Place checkmarks under my tongue. My love, tell my spine how it knows when I have done enough to feel safe.

Leave a Comment

Comments

No comments yet. Why don’t you start the discussion?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *