the baby cries over an ungreased cradle.
I think of an anchor pulsating on the seafloor,
the salt bites the metal
the sun bites my skin
freshly salted rusted pieces of me.
veins popping strangled, the belt pressing them, a window silently cracks
I snap my fingers, I’m looking for a knife to take life
it doesn’t cut, just rips the flesh.
The lion is gently looking into my eyes…shut up! shut up! shut up!
the opened lips show the fangs, white, wet, cold
the sun climbs the deserted house,
under my ribcage a bird is sitting on my heart, empty beak
fake feathers, not all grey or red
made 30 painful spins to the abyss.
go and bury your heart in the sand, there aren’t any worms at sea.
don’t be afraid of the shells, they are kind and sharp…but they won’t hurt you like the lion did…