the weight of july slings me full in the face.

sepia-tinted guilt. aches simmered down to burnt caramel.

the bathroom’s glaring amber floodlights.

snip goes the scream of scissors &

         i watch my dignity slip through the eaves of my fingers,

                  dark and oil-slick like a drowned bird. later      

my mother will tell me, voice a

slammed door:

to cut away is not to bring closure.

the sky has been chewed up &     

spat out with abandon. it bleeds

                  lasciviously from the pores of my skin.

i handle my hair ribbons as i would

blood-soaked bandages. the light kisses

me, mournful. ye of little faith, it gleams, brass-cheeked

                           like the mother of my youth.

my bones are riddled with hailstones.

open my mouth, now, and let the deep blue

tear my tongue out.