weighing on my right shoulder
smacking in my ear on a plum or whatever
swear to god he was my good angel
righteousness oozing from between his gripped teeth
he gripped me, vise-words
his holiness choked me
i liked fantasy too much
i was not a phoenix
just a handful of ashes trying to
be something more than
a handful of ashes trying to be
and he would remind me
scatter me with every word
between smacking
i wished to god words broke bones
sometimes. then i could point and show you why
i hurt and why a fury of bile
rises when i try to speak and leaves me breathless
choking on the earthquake
quivering in my throat.
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