The Sexing


oi oi alas alas

The bodies fall everywhere soft and misformed as mud

sinking into the earth like sleep

What is it that makes these urgent, unquiet dreams?


Cupped eyes of children gather knowledge like a thirst

until that hand cracks them spilling tears like blood

cateracts, like lies, form patches across time


Pulling strands of memory

each one fine as wire

through my naked teeth


Knives and teeth ring my dreams

silent guardians too steep, a glass mountain I

cannot climb with these bare feet

and empty hands


Yet somehow through closed doors and ages

thin as ghosts of children the memories come

sliding along the shafts into my brain.


I pull them out one by one, and taste them

each one whisper thin, fine as spun sugar

or an airless scream that sets birds to flight,

filling the air with shadows.

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