raindrops               ripple potholes,                          neon rain- 
boots splash,    but                           she splits                chapped              lips  
                                 to sip                       monsoons; 

her liquid tongue               becomes                 catacombic,             crypt- 
                ic;                    a limestone tooth lined   
                         language tomb. 

                                 Her sun-bleached              bones stow          silent            marrow; 
decay:    a water-logged  language       corpse;  
                decay:    growing up                           knowing                bones. 

                Evaporation          fractures                water into lime- 
stone                     & rain,                     saline drips  

                                 so, concrete shores a fresh Atlantic 
                                                                     lapping into        potholes?  tidal pools?  
                                                   like a pulse in a vein; like venom from a cottonmouth 

                Atlantic coffin mouths                    slip like                    gold 
                                                                   —fool’s gold— 
                                 through                    America’s melting pot                    tidal pools; 

                                                  above, rain entombs streetlight;  
                                                                    a litany of little amber catacombs 
                                                                                     from that barrel of a raincloud; 


to plunge a forked tongue into brimming              potholes,            to sip, 
                & scoop sand like             pyrite         is to pierce 
                                 supple flesh with          gilded                      bullets; 

                                 to adopt them, to cradle them                         to sleep,  
                                                  & abandon them in bassinet flesh;                 fish for the magazine 
                                 poised like prison bars, fill the          wound          its barrel  blasted; 

                an exit          wound: cavernous mouth                cradle, 
limp tongue vessel anchored with                        frenulum rope  
                fishing line                  electron teeth chewed in two. 

                so, her tongue sloshes, liquidizes like a               corpse; 
becomes catacombic,         crypt- 
        ic;   becomes a limestone tooth lined— 

                                                  tombs become tombs  when gold slips slick like hourglass silt 
                                 between a broken tongue’s       silent       halves 
                when they house bullets               foreclose words as children’s rooms; 

Growing up:        bullet holes        blown       through                 bassinettes;  
                Growing up:            HOME’s             O as the       exit wound