Last Body

I can’t leave my hurting skull Or the rose apple opening inside me. I’ll count the weeks, months, Unfurling each numbered day in my hair. Frost ribbons inside my brain, Canals push up my leg. I’m moving on To what the world needs me to know. I am the angel trapped inside the bullet. I am the exit wound trapped inside the angel. Am I the scarecrow Perched at the end of the human trail. I’ll palm cotton between my prayers Until the universe has passed, Waving down jellyfish To volcano hours. What force propels a bullet From its chamber. Is it sourced by water Trickling in a karst cave, Or is it an angel’s gasp as she flees. I can’t answer it all, But my mask grows taller every year.