white silver

spoon people

with their indelible grins

and white bloated cheeks

cloaked in tablecloth at sunday dinner

like corpses eight days buried

eyes peeled open and skin pearly

if when we die we're smiling

and if the children tunnel around us

with such small white plastic shovels

all freckled in dirt

like little moles blind in soil and sun

if when we die we're blinking

hiding from the flash before our eyes

and if the insects find our bodies too soft

too warm and killed too quickly

we'll rest in space made for lovers

beneath a slab of granite and our family's feet

black heels poking into our sides

if when we die we're together

in cemeteries like silverware drawers

let us be two spoon people

cloaked in sunday best

grins indelible

hands cupped to catch the rain

this is what i'm looking at

my wings are growing in

my skin is splintering and

all the blood is rushing to my shoulder blades

these aren't pillow wings

all feather and quill

ruffled by a slight breeze

buzzing and electric

they hum and sting like wasps

a steady trickle of sparks drips down my spine

and when i shrug the wind changes around me

i'll pry your filthy hands from my wings

i'll wave to you from between the clouds

waiting for something that resembles sleep

something is different in her sighs

when she smells the bouquets of lilies

blooming in december sunlight

and we're running out of vases

****

not able to sleep because your brain thinks louder than the silence

****

i see you in my dreams

standing behind shadows and blended into crowds

but it feels like software

like you're there because you were programmed in

once upon a time

not because somebody invited you back

and when we lock eyes in that place

it feels like lacing fingers again

but your heart and hands are cold

and you melt into someone else's arms

a liquid ghost

you slipped between my fingers

i'm not sad, my palms are just damp

and something squelches in my chest

****

i should be in bed, but things are too quiet in there

****

my lungs are filled with paint

it balloons when i breathe in

splatters against the walls when i sigh

it seeps into my blood

when i run through the thorns

everybody knows which way i went

my legs beading cerulean and magenta

sometimes all the colors collide

pooling and congealing around my heart

until i feel an explosion coming on

and my throat is raw and rainbowed

****

sleep may come with daylight

****