We were scalded by the livid envy of the pinched bloom of winter.
Gouged by gray light, staggering doorsteps shed shivers and we touched,
brighter and brighter.
I know my hands when they’re soaking in bourbon or wanting more bourbon or when they’re just cold.
I know that I’m old, a young nothing, I’ve killed off my children and eaten their hearts.
I know my mind when it’s shaking from bourbon or wanting more bourbon or when it’s just cold.
I know that I’m bold, a young coward, I’ll serve you small petulant pieces of the heart of a child.
We were scolded by the frantic, rusted hinges of dawn-pitted birdsong.
I screamed at those sparrows with a voice of smoke and fear and I had enemies,
black, bristling feathers, louder and louder.