Mags

Mental Contagion

The Meteor

Ash hair and marble hands,
backhoe digs a trench
for your tinder smile.

Wood cross carved
with the legal years of you,
I carry, perverse,
like the bear begging
honey from the gun.

All those dates cut my arms,
cut this cancered cord from life
to soul. I will cry no more,
walk away from this hole,
finally be the meteor,

and light my midnight sky.
Fly bear, flee the bullet,
in tears embrace my blood --
roil, flash and burn away
the husk I called a heart.