CALL ME BELOVED

I know you’re still here.
This is the only way I’ve
ever kept captive audiences –

everyone gawks at car crashes.
I’m written out naked, a diary left open,
so take all you need, here are my confessions:

the pride of accepting you’re a piece
that will never fit – it takes you, whole, a
maniacal ecstatic joy burning at the stake,

poems should be public square executions
so here are mine – I build my own guillotines,
and I adore demonstrating each deadly corner

because I’ve lost my taste for this life; slaked, gone
when I first found the words for it, unholy text
eclipsing dawn, a ten year old learning

you could leave it?
you could leave it –
you haven’t left it, yet

the fire is taking you
whole, you’re laughing, loud,
and you haven’t left it, yet