Luck, this much
It’s true, I’m in
ma always said that water cleanses you
inside and out
if ya bored, take a shower
if ya sick, drink water
if ya sad, take a shower
if ya leg broke, drink water
if ya stank, take a shower
What music would Korsakov write
if he were here on earth as the bees
are dying? Their hives weightless lungs
paper lanterns swaying on the wind?
Their queen done telling her endless
stories to stay alive, no longer daughter
of the immortal gods: Father Frost
and Mother Spring, her heart melting
for the love of a man.
The least cricket of evening
is invisible, naked except for
its tiny violin, the lost bell
of its heart. Somewhere
in this room my terracotta
cricket with its sap-colored eyes
raises a hair-thin quiver
Again in space
Bird, the bird.
Could write of fucking.
Flesh’s / signals.
Hadn’t I been?
It is some time since I have been
I want to live long enough to outlive my mother
so she never learns of the needles hidden throughout my apartment
the way she once hid money from herself
for times when she didn’t work enough
and I pray if she ever learns