That Poem

Do you witness?

the warm, close knit thing?

The periphery of wrath? 

All heads and knee-deep doom
in bloom

the fate of 

a windmill

tied to their arms
Hard ciphers 

coagulating in rhythm 
as the flamingos 

herd to 
Siberia


if i ever live my death
dont bury my stars under the water of sorrow
or any nostalgia
that was found in my skirt

bury me insane
and
fluttering
with my indignation
written underneath the eyelids
taking gasps of immortality in
the hells of God's gardens