BIRD CAGE
There is nothing I cannot cut.
Whereas you trap
every last thing
between your palms,
your violence
a hatched egg,
an open-air prison,
a junior high
volleyball game.
Nine mountains, eight seas:
nothing I can’t cut.
I have come to teach you love
and the solitude that comes
with ultimate strength.
Three thousand paper clips.
A translucent kimono.
Everywhere hollow birds
continue to sing.
EVERYTHING I’VE LOST
Summoning my bone dragon.
Rejecting evidence-based
explanations. I am
a small creature that came
from an egg.
I was very ill, something bad
in the marrow. Ready to die,
I sought the monk
with one thousand palms
and killed him
with my spinal sword.
Now everything I touch
turns to broken
glass. Now I live
relentlessly,
returning bottles
and redeeming garbage
like a disrobed wizard.
