granted: i married a jackal
and should have known it


but love could be a mirror from above
and you should have seen her—
sharp as an 80s kick, shiny and new
and flat like a package you would send
yourself in a dream—anyway it’s not blind
but deaf—just try to notice as it crashes on your head
and lacerates your sense of sense
so the light membrane of each dum-dum can’t tell you
what rights get left behind in all your lustrous nights


yes, i sang myself into her tomb, and
no, i was wrong: my bride was a hyena

           

           

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