Submission

It’s a lot of getting into and being got.A baby-face making up for age,long fingers loosening, then tightening ties.An agent of demise— I like things dirty.

Your laugh, for instance, is funky and grave.I’m an old girl, a bandit crawling through the night,a fortune all my own.

Walls blush, sounds pulse in my presence.I beat the city against my hands.I want the lines of my palms to be the streets.I want to feel buildings shoot out of my wrists.