Roseblood

How I often feel.

No roses at the curb,
Only cement — gray lid,
A doorstep stripped of name.

In the void, he arrives.
In the void, fate slits.
In the void, my lungs bleed.

Hands like sickles,
Slash the portal —
Feed me, need me.

Grow, infant rosebud.
Red throat, roseblood,
Cup spilling with rusted wine.

Grow the saint garden.
Tulip mouths — gaping.
Bread torn, buttered, bitter.

Nurse me, colic babe.
Nurse me, holy teat.
Nurse me, martyr’s breast.

Take. Take.
Take, take, take.
Take until exhume.

The shrine: stark.

Why give?
I, the wailing boy,
Salt-swollen, naked?

My Mother did the same.
For me. For me. For me.
She emptied the womb.

Take. Take.
Take, take, take.
Take until exhume.

Heir to the stark,
Mouth a tulip,
Vow of manifest hunger.