WEBVTT

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"The Palace at 4 a.m."

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The Palace at 4 a.m.

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Mother, I am going home,
through the great, transparent,

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ear-hanging tents and darkness.

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Overhead and antediluvian,
bird with hollow bones

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made for flutes rakes
the sky with its teeth.

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My heart is made of an
apple, instantly full blown

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and ready to be cut.

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I have watched the digital
afternoons blow away

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like pieces of smoldering straw
into an amputated sky which

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ignores them.

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I want my bath now, of raw
ambergris and charred cloves.

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And stroke my sister's
chilly backbone,

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picked clean of meat, while I
watch them take her head away

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in a basket of brown roses.

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In the ruthless attic,
an antediluvian bird

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rakes the stars, like
plankton through its teeth.

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Mother, I want to be born.

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And a massive hound, bearing a
stomach of coals in his mouth,

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knocks on the door
with his wooden head.

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