This is the sound of the terror
of isms Of my rickshaw heart beating

The night bleeding you or bleeding from you

The child awoke with desire to swallow
a supernatural animal

She will not be touched She won’t come
to the phone

This is the sound of a mirror
in pieces Of Madonna and Child
falling down stairs

So long in the kitchen
So long on the porch swing

The polaroids weren’t vivid enough No high
way town no shutdown
sawmill No earthquake of hands
dismantling hands

Down the mountain clutching shocks
of weeds His mouth and answer came
in burlap

Disorder the earth Sweetheart
go back to sleep