Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2023  Vol. 21  No.3
an online journal of literature and the arts
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it is 2 a.m. ugly,
beautiful is sleeping.

and body parts are now religion.

a holy cult
where the angels won’t shut up

about our weeping.
all over the road,
your chalk outline,

limb-scattered vessel,
a temporary home.

i bring it to the station
resurrect you
night into night.

trace the white scribbled shape
into a body.

in my room
the ghosts unfold me,

caress my uniform
before putting it on.

and when the angels do not see us,
wings undressed; they leave.

we are the frowns of your absence,
ghosts holding up our clothes.  

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