Adorn your eyelashes, paint
and napalm. Your ankles
lace up with scarlet ribbons:
ghost trail behind soft steps.
Carry this bayonet,
sewing needle through
your dress. You, shrouded
in new blue light on stage.
You can only see blue
light and the moon as it breaks,
tossed with dust and rocks,
it’s thick blood falling away
from us, down… Another shroud.
Now what do we do? Now what
can we do? We all prick lunar
pieces from the ruins, carefully
select what crumbs we’ll still
choose to believe in.
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