The Bluish Skins of Snakes

In the intermittent dawns,
Filled with all maneuvers
And plasticized cerebral hemispheres;
I dig.

I dig into the clay
Of your unremembered songs.

The shallow hollow of it.
To find undone in you
A series of mathematical equations
For the existence of a woman.

And drowning out the noise of reproduction,
I laid down the fire of my burning flesh,
Into your womb of ash and clay.

We fire.

And sculpt.

And glaze.

Until every crack is sealed thoroughly,
And all dark matter that lies within
Is purged through an excessive heating.

And the demagogue’s scorn
Sounds triumphant;
As though depleting oxygen.

For we are fire.


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