(Shadow integration = Poetry Night)
What it’s Like to Die
I shut my eyes to see the room inside my head
where I collect fragile things:
One dried flower
a doll hung by the neck
And four vacant walls that whisper names of those I tucked deep into shadow.
It’s like a cemetery for the breathless forms that turn water to ice.
In the corner of a vacant window a spider web reaches forward
with one lonely thread, as if to rescue me by silk.
I scrape the red off a rose to make blood between my thighs
so I can feel what it’s like