So I can bury my dead so I can stop drowning like those two sobbing girls so I

            can stop living these ghosts and dig their deaths

            out of my chest with knives no with dull spoons with pretty

little pills and no sleep with pen knives

carved from splinters left by the coffin of the one body that was found

            with shards of broken mirror

so many pieces like everything else discon-

                                                nected in me but I can’t dis-con-nect these ghosts

            no one asked for a resurrection

                        leave that shit for Jesus I don’t need it what I

need is a pillow black moss under

            a stone angel who weeps for me for us all and the

                        sweet sharp grass scratching these graves in my face

            where they can bury their love so you can read them there and not

                        ask me again what’s wrong what is it this time but

see it here plain as bodies floating bloated in the reeds

because these mirror shards embedded in my arms

            reflect my ghost but not me no not me now

                        not anymore look here’s me now here

            no                    here                 in yellow can you believe that yellow

                        here’s me here look

beneath these souls etched in my skin so they can breathe free instead

                        of forever cowering in the memory of one night

what I want is a graveyard so I can press my scars into flower’s

            beds and they can seep out through my skin and

                        sleep finally like the ink seeps

            in to house itself safe under another

                        layer and just peek through to see

            the sun because isn’t that what everyone wants anyway?