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Scavenger’s Daughter
I would walk a tightrope for you

enter on entropy the balled up

notions names embedded in a wall

my precept written in a scrawl, sideward

in stone, in pavement

the last note that spoke of resurrection

left and a journey


well death, it hinged my foot

last night and the one before

laborious in indignations

I remember little the dream an

overcoat starkly mentioned

in my head over breakfast

clock or the waking of day

it’s timeless this talk of men

pulling carts taking the jug

discarding books like the outward


and you say your sidewalk’s a moat 

that you view from a cell but just in jest 

your freedom’s in weights 

while I’m set in a hoop to day

civil comforts and scratchings 

of my head

there are hymns to draw from

though I’ve forgotten them

in the dim of bargains,

broad begging,

nearing thighs 

and against stomach,

lost the list of precursors

wanting then to save father

and son the same: 

for this year it’s gangrene 

I collect the limbs

on the window sill

and they’ll come and go half-hearted 

and genius as always

I talk up love as provision

among the condemned— 

someone’s writing up

the initial death notice I hear

paper and pen press despite

cogent daylight or my sense that

shins weren’t meant for touching


my shape’s too dense

for death you say and try to guide

with your left eye through a cataract fog 

forgoing my harbinger name 

and how these fingers find two 

iron bows, folding up body— 


I know your decay,

hold your life like impurities