565

damn your kin
and your basket hands
damn your father
and the wind in your hair

if I only knew the cold
was not with me
but at the backs of
all I know
perhaps
I wouldn’t bite my tongue
or hide my love in the grass

your chest rattles when you sleep
and move in mud
I’m not unclean
just parched in the woods
and damn
I don’t know what’s good for me
either
either