You’re in a car and crying and amazed
at how bad it feels to do bad things. Then
you’re in a hotel bathroom with blood
on your undershirt and the smell of a too—
chlorinated pool outside. You know
one hundred ways to pray to the gods
Always get the last word.
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rippling beneath that water. Confess, tangle,
pass through. Once your room is dark
they come inside, dripping wet. When you show
them the burnt place on your arm,
they show you the bands of flesh cut
from their thighs. You suck their tongues,
trace the blisters under their wings. It’s so lucky,
this living forever all at once. When you turn
on the lights, you’re inconsolably
glad. You could stop this whenever, but why?