"Reconstruction."
Do not grow flowers in the valley of my breasts.
Slip the muck until it learns to multiply.
Chew each root to the last sinew still mangled
and attached to me.
In a spew of yellow pus, I am crowned with my wound.
No, I am not so generous.
What I've tried to touch, I had no capacity.
All my life I believed I was the cruel one.
I couldn't say what I believed, I lived it.