SERAPH

to my room i go
old as sin i always hated that
nothing sinful about consequence
these arms, when tucked together, are frictive
stick to stick on stick, it’s like
WHOLLY WHOLLY WHOLLY
WHOLLY WHOLLY WHOLLY
IT IS BRIGHTER, HOTTER, AND BURNING
BECKONED AND FUSED IN THE ONE
no time to tell my daughter
just grip the sheet and burn
what else but bear down
set from within that wandering labor, of feeling full
through a tunnel behind my stomach, somehow
not her at all now, but me, and its coming,
a riptide sets the breath
orange and smoldering, away,
down, down a channel pinkness
caustic char sloughs to a tender ash, i’ll come when called,
WHOLLY WHOLLY WHOLLY
WHOLLY WHOLLY WHOLLY

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