let's write to find the edge of Hell
Eurydice is the anatomy of our song
it echoes out the damned
they wait for our mouths, wet
words: some spiry angels bloated
in our lungs to bursting poems
we thought this was what love sounded like
we thought we touched something
a blitzen dawn only in our drunk drunk sonnets
there is no body here--no LIGHT
I am little more than breath
words again: failed LIGHT
another cut on my hand
another breath to work through my cuts
or to find a little god maybe
no--I've got no hands to mend
no hands to patch up these failed words
here I trespass on the SUN
and I've grown into my own criminal echo
learning to die
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