Poetry

One of these nights, you’re gonna go extinct.

It’s bad archaeology, babe. I can feel the fossilizing.

A tectonic shuffling of the scales, and the volcanoes

all sing, Kablamo—

 

I keep fighting a war with my diet. Deny myself

the meat, carnivorous delight of teething the daylight

undone. Scathing. Seismic hell. Sun-core spits arrowheads,

but the excuse is reptile.

 

I take these burnt-up wings, blur-dance-destroy myself

for miles—against the singe-wind oblivion

of everything we’ve colored in—

 

Look how the bombs look like clouds.

 

Tattoo the earth’s crust

with the vein of this beast, this dream we’ve been draining.

 

An aloe-green more like dying. Kiss of purple shoreline.

A single stegosaurus on his own for the last disco.

 

I turn toward the music.

 

The music is a streak of comets glittering right for us.

The ocean, your arms—catching unholy light-fire.

 

My little raptor, it’s the rapture, and I need you to hold me

as long as you’re still here.