poem

Spring Christmas

My head is like a ribbon thrown under a train that you can’t stop; that you don’t want to stop. My head: like a ribbon of worm in an apple pie. My head: destroy this pain again and for the first time (like water washing time from hair). Destroy this head: abnormal, sick, vile, purple-marbled, and then winter and snow will begin. Snow always holds a secret: destroy this snow, it carries neither secrets nor questions, trains are like lame swallows, rails are like inflorescences of homeless and suicides peoples hanging from the trees. This head carries no secrets, no questions. Destroy this head: the husks will scatter across meadows and deserts, across bird meadows and across human deserts. Cut off the dead branches, pluck the faded flowers, take out the trash, throw your head under the train.

And then I’ll die. And then you’ll die inside my head.