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My love: a knife blessing flesh. My Lord, there is no end, only more beginnings.

Poetry | Poetry Tuesday, poetry
December 12, 2023

Some weep into pages, crack coconuts, kneel before stone before beginnings.
Enter the kingdom of body or the eye of bomb — name on the door: Beginnings.

Newborn clutching a copper T, weed piercing through
concrete — no animal ever needs approval for beginnings.

In the name of tomorrow, sharks sell you water by the river.
Waves rise but the thirsty beg for more, more, more beginnings.

Are you the man who brought roses for Hitler? I am a baby
embalmed in ice, forgive me. What is frozen by war? Beginnings.

Do you weep when trains screech off platforms, fire stars into air
from the iron tracks? No! Never such pain. Oh, you ignore beginnings?

My head is tigered with ruin — my god — I have hopes, I have it all
figured out, I just need a trigger to ignite my hardcore beginnings.

I laughed into the mouth of poison, Mira sings as she swirls in her bridal sari.
My love: a knife blessing flesh. My Lord, there is no end, only more beginnings.

Fuck the banks and temples. I will leave it all behind. I am dead
tired of shit we create — cars, folklore, war — to conjure beginnings.

More children are born than die each day. Give me a word and I will take
it apart to form another. We covet endings in lieu of sore beginnings.

Sleep is a coffin for your dreams, Shannan. Who you are and what you want will
never meet. Pray to reach the river of the Beloved before you forget your beginnings.