Your jaw is a beam of rotting wood/ It is where sadness starts 

The mouth carries apple-cradled jewels/ & a heat-dipped horizon, 

First Child clipping crimson out of the sky/ So the birds miss their own singing 

The boy on the corner is pretzel-throated/ Shows you alcohol under a microscope 

While First Child carries jade circle death in her pocket/ Weaves ribbon into soft lungs 

Someone painted whiteout on your eye/ & it quieted you 

Locked, an eggshell jaw/ Where screams start