A story of binding and the taste for self-destruction.
Exists only in the swallowtail,
of my bruised sternum.
in purple and black
HE reminds me that I must remain.
II
A summer dusk flyballs
cracking through sky
the firework
of a childhood dream
to be blue:
out of breath and breaking
anew to strum the sinews
of my lyre,
HE teases the thought
of fire.
III
at my feet to burn,
to destroy,
the beach can only
ember glass
and like plastic trash
HE leaves
small
but nevertheless
aflame
(xe/he)
a poet and performer, Ray enjoys sunsets, patterned overalls, and trans liberation
instagram: @kniffok
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