swamp song

mama begs her baby for some wishes and she says
pointing to the center: dead dead dead.
from the outskirt of a circle, vicious thumping at a chest
seeing centered on the enemies, bring their heads
baby hasn’t tasted teat milk and hasn’t yarn to spin
and she weaves from empty spools
and she blankets mama’s din

is there a right side to a spiral, sinking slurping down a drain?
or is this our sovereign swamp, the bugaboos’ terrain?
treading tired on the peat are these calloused childs’ feet
and while mama’s pleading patience,
baby sinks beyond her knees

still she’s steeled and seeking saviors, weak and vapid and in gloom
but if meaning is the matter, this miasma metes a vacuum
and so mama’s sipping stomach acid
in intrinsic flagellation, begging baby choose:
leaky canoe, cement shoes, what to do?
baby blinks and says to mama: lead or lose,
lose lose.

cactus petals

alone alone alone alone alive I’ll live adrift and
categorically nameless, abysmal as I
sink sink sink sink and sail as one sweet swirl
unmoored, and yet, memory persists
we see that we built as we sailed as we sank and we
wield our might and fury like cactus petals all bundled in bouquet
late winter blooms, those impossible pollinators
feed the panic that powers us
shoves us headlong to the cusps of broken bridges and we
cobble safe passage from flimsy flotsam
the carrion of sunken ships shattered on a shore
in sands of an impenetrable future, an invisible impossibility
and yet, hands held and heads hollowed by exhaustion
we step step step step and sink together
cells that cannot touch, magnetized by fear
dissolve a space we couldn’t anyway know
peace is joy propelled forever somewhere and together somehow