years of water

flat breasted women

born from irony

breathless metal

thin

brittle

on the freeway arms crossed

more construction of self

for happiness

the shadow’s blood

another tear in the flesh

so little worth

for truth is all wrong

or an error in numbers

a mumble from the old woman

who sleeps upright

not in defensive shadows

but with salt bitter tears

performing

years of water

the calendar displays the biting tongue

half-moons holding together

and mercury

a placid water leaks through windows

the red tear in the ocean

the opening and closing of death

a closet filled with identities

red silk divinities

the old woman holds together

with black fabric

captured and small the moon is

crawling out of her flesh