These days my hands do not ache

for the sinuous pearlescent splendor
of my body before I was trapped
as this ghost.

These days I hardly hear the echoes from the

screams of my voiceless heart.

These days the only ocean is what swims

in my veins, such a small stain that slips
down my legs with every moon.

These days I laugh at the irony of true love

being as significant as last night’s dinner.

These days I dance as light on the water,

the smoke of brassier twirling into the
heavens, the writhing ecstasy of snakes
entwined.  But I am still anchored to this rock.

These days a dagger is a friend indeed.

These days I do not remember the feral

teeth rabid for what I used to be.  This
mouth glittering with scales and spit.

The rancid violence of hunger.

These days I am a shipwreck in a bottle

and I only wish to drown.

.