phoebe

you are in my heart

my poems aren't written to be mobile/tablet friendly. you might have to scroll right.
an arthropod boring
through the bars of its cell,

rupturing

in bloody spray, viscera,
innocence.

watch it writhe
on a landing of what was

a sternum, and consider
how to give more

to something that cannot know
you. how did you become

so empty? uninhabited.