You Give me PTSD

when you rage that viper venom out of your
mouth loud as a thousand velociraptors running over fault
lines traced in crow blood that you say
is mine, but I know the difference. My seismic heart
can only take so much before the hummingbirds
can’t stop shaking in there; all that falling
and flapping in boiling nectar.
The quakes move to my legs, and I’m trapped with the
trembling, knowing the tsunami is coming, and my torpor tongue
stumbles over the carnage, stunned. My tectonic shifting head sliding
around in the waves, breathing in the salt to keep afloat;
Your venom is still stuck in my veins, but you blame me,
as always, and say, if I didn’t already have too many fractures.

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Haiku for the Dark

Reaching towards midnight
Owl twists head around the dark
Pounce moon on mouse tail.

The Whale House

I first loved you in a brown brick house before
the doors were soiled with the saltwater backwash
from your mouth carrying the words you would
drop on me like blue whales: heavy and blubbery.
And I would have to carry the weight of these whales
for eternities over bathroom tiles and brown shag rug
while my own body warped from whale dancing all night.
I would become an expert at finning with my own
mouth rife with acid tongue and needlepoint teeth.
Just one more fin to bury in my underwear drawer that I
would never sort anymore,
because you were too busy whaling.
And I would grow tired of going crazy hauling carcasses
out of the bed. So I would decide to make a
house out of them eventually and I would crawl inside,
heat it with the fire of my tears and let the
viscous brown run down my face and neck and limbs
that were not yet fins.
You knocked on the door once.
I wouldn’t answer, so you left, and
I could finally sleep close to a heart again.