poems should be born in the dark
under threat of stars
come out glistening in pain
come out
as thought they could be pulled
by a male doctor’s
2 white hands
from a place so hot;
as though nothing else could cry
so loud or so long
as these new lungs
slung between words,
worlds come out
to take the world in a mouth,
to be spoken from a mouth always.
poems should be born in the dark
on the cool edges of kitchen tables,
shining faintly and melting into
the greys of air, come out
shining faintly from the creeping fringe
of window shades, halos creeping
a frame where a window ought to be;
in a stumble over a shoe left in the middle
of the floor, its tripping grey swallowed
by sinking air, come out
on the brim of paper pads
and blind licking tips of pens.
poems should be born in the dark
in the smolders of ashtrays choking
for breath, in the lump of skipping
heartbeat, come out
from under the bed with glowing eyes
of rats and the howl of a wolf
in the corner, keeping children awake;
from under doors where the wind sweeps,
room to room, brushing over skin,
whispering into dreams, come out
to curl the wick in a candle’s flame
to burn wide open everything