Delicious

Pain is
a messenger
she would like

to shoot
if she had
a gun. If

she believed
in that sort
of thing. If

she had
better aim. If
she wasn’t

sometimes in
love with it—him.

Moonmilk

Pathos or a compulsion
to turn everything outside
into me. I want to steal your pain—
relieve you—but
it’s a lie. I cannot feel

the flare-ups erupting
inside your muscles, joints, trust. Only
a greedy desire to conceal
my own fear inside walls
of an ancient cave

I’ll never enter. Not to see the primitive
finger flutings overhead—I become entangled
in this grotesque silence.