Carleen Tibbetts the architecture of the machine is love

a woman/i
for her/me this is a song

young with trust
a-glow with bright half-life

open the night and let the silk in
open her/myself
the meat of her/my brain
(the soft circuitry of a torn-apart flower)

the woman/i went hungry
in another's percussive throat

a guttered self-respect
lit from within

this other-than-oneness of a thing
this unknowable vocabulary of loss

a woman/i find(s) the promise of
a swindle comforting

re:sutures-do we stay broken?

a woman/i wake(s) in the surfacing


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