You are not okay.
You and the wound and the unnatural humming. You and
the rotting cottage. The oven and the cage. You the undersized, a den
and snarling for a place.
What’s more you will never be okay
in your shadow throat, your charybdis
until you believe
what you want. There need be nothing alarming in your restlessness.
You have been invited to follow the godwits
and flock noisily together.
You have been invited by the wood ride and plover to trust
your luck and be. Of now of kiss of foot of crag.
Let any number of nights happen to you.
Let the huge tears the long requiem roll. Get your knife.
Whittle the candle to the wick. The abode. The bundle of woven. Within you
there lives light and fanfare and bullshit
and morning and anatomy. And secret spells. Believe
what you
want. Then say it over and over everything
else you hear.
Wow