axe murder
It's hard to write a beautiful poem
about an axe murder.
—Noel Currie
without knowing
who i am
and how you watch me
you watch
as i slowly step
in the dark
light a match
and
in the summer air
wind
i
light as air
step to the head
of her bed
like you watch me
i watch her
as a cleavage
of molecules
parts before my axe
head
here it starts
here are the longboat ribs
of the girl
here is the hull
covered
with little blood hearts
here is the skull
a new scar
new flesh
then the pockmarked moon comes
shows me
pale face
dead wax
the windows' dark mesh
matted hair and blood
on my axe
and the dirty moon
and it's all done