To T-Rex, the King

bear your brittle crown and stomach your tinfoil throne

elope with the vesuvius psalms o so you

instill the yellow on yellow of the sulfur

 

cough out the bruise on your spine

leak out the sprain on your knees 

gut yourself with the diamonds on your crown

to release the tiger lillies and the rot beneath 

 

o king / i let neolithic blue cover my skin and i prophesize

myself exiting the crimson sunspot while leaving you 

your kingdom / o i will one day discharge myself

 

from a picture frame with the two of us and sob 

when i see burns on the dust that was your body / o i will

one day incinerate your throne / ignite your fortresses /

not to declare war / but to release you / soaring amid smoke

Broken Abecedarian of Prehistoric Burial

a pair of rusted scissors

 

cuts away at windpipe roots

 

each night the bygone die once again

from the autopsies of fever dreams, silence

 

hides cadavers in the sand like a treasure,

in the tunnels of ants

 

keep in mind that to die is not to be unaware or

lose all consciousness, but to be frayed

many times over until body becomes

no longer body and dissolves into nature.


 

quaintly tailing behind each sunrise, 

rotting is a gentle process of the wind

softening the silhouette of a face.


 

vultures disassemble. in soil, there are many teeth and few

wings. because the earth bares fangs but hides skies deep in

xenolith plains. we are the same —

yielded from burrows and burrowing back into the earth