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