Dawn is at the door, a dog
               empties its voice into the dark

—chaos brews in my belly,
               bad breakfast. I burn

a cigarette in the absence
               of weed. it is not even Dawn yet

& sorrow binds his sick hands
               around my neck, makes a fist, breaks

my body, feeds bits of me
               to the crows. my cousin says

You are selfish, she says Do
               better with your life, & I stammer

because I am tired of explaining
               bipolar, how do I tell of its blue

spirit, the purple of its beak, pink
               red of its tongue.  the dog is still

emptying into the night.
               I am mourning. again. again. &

it is only February, brutal summer
               is not even near yet. look—

all these blades in the closet
               of my chest, how this hunger

twists the song of my life, how
               I try to be the beautiful—

boy my mother prayed for, golden
               child, but at what have I not failed—

even sex, Lord, even death, even
               love, I am failing at love, I am falling

from love—let the thud be
               a prayer, a loud prayer to my mother—

Moimi, what do you bear
               in your soiled hands—lay them

down—     lay me down, Lord, lay
               me down, broken piano,

I am a broken piano. lay me
               down—I will crawl through

the dirt of wet earth to kiss
               you, Moimi, to be kissed

by you, your warm mouth,
               to have your lips greet every wound—

how hungry I am to be called
               Son, to be boy again, not man—

I am tired of carrying myself, praying
               weed to the heavens in wisps,

I am tired of trying—Lord,
               I will lay me down, down, down

in the cold earth,
               before Dawn.

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