DIE LIKE ART

A POEM

I am blank

and new.

A recoiled, un-struck

harp cord.

Hiding and tight in the

crook of an Earthly beast’s

knee. A star

in my throat. 

Over-folded eye lids.

Breathing my heart-beat is 

heavy with 

sweat.

But I am senseless

in the mouth. 

What newness is this?

A grown woman

tired with might,

resembling 

the emptiness

of a newly 

powdered babe. 

A fusing descent into

black soil,