WIFI IN A PRISON YARD
I tear up my heart into wigs of slivers
that I may remember how it all began.
there was an eclipse and I misplaced my eyes
to the blood in the moon, a miscarriage of everything I owned.
I am sick of the nostalgia that comes with a stale memory
of what I should have seen, before the darkness.
we find connections on the lines on our palms and they become entangled
into edible nests, until a new inmate begins to cry.
this globe is full of darkness
and the only lit places are burning.
the fire punctured the ozone that blankets the verdin in my rib cage.
My heart is a wick of card sliver, it spins in a pool of grief.