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