Villanelle

She spoke of ghosts when I was young
Of heartbeats swallowed by the walls
Yet I could smell the devil’s tongue

My eyelids fluttered as she sung
My Playboy mommy, us her dolls
Songs of ghosts when I was young
 

Us little girls once prayed, once clung
To her long legs to break our falls
Yet I could smell the devil’s tongue
 

One breath of her collapsed my lungs
Nightmares born from her shrill calls
One ghost alive when I was young
 

From my dear mother’s mouth, she hung
Those pretty dripping words for brawls
The sting, the smell of devil’s tongue
 

With steadied vengeance I once flung
blood from my lips to make her small
I learned of ghosts when I was young
I learned to steal the devil’s tongue

Cadavers for God

The dawn cracked upon my eyes

but had no yolk, so I blinked through
the bland fogginess with no real hope
of redemption. I no longer feel the pull
of direction as I navigate my way
to the culprit. Demagnetized
with heavy crosses to bear

guess I’ll file for unemployment.

The North drove me insane for years
upon years – wrapping myself in bearskin
I felt the arms she chose to never wrap
around me. So I’d flee to
the East for my reincarnation
but they said I’d need the exorcist first.

I’ve lost my divisibility, I think,
but leaded hands don’t know much
about nothing. Us wanderers steal
precious space from the rest

But we’re great cadavers for God.