Lost in Space

Your face is dark
like space
and the lostness
of what I was searching for
in a space
of molten hearts;
and i eat rocks
breaking off the moon
everyday for nine years now.
Your face a ghost of all
the other ghosts before you
and after you.

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Heart Bag

Her heart lives in a bag
outside, blowing with the wind
rolling in the dirt and rocks
and
sometimes floating, just barely
but always
in swamps.
She tied it to a stick once
with ligaments of swamp creatures:
stringy and fierce, and full of teeth.
But the bag ripped,
heart out, and bleeding
everywhere.
Never tied to a stick
person
again.