Venus

- ACID BATH -

Creeping like frost
As slow as grave
moss
Like drowning in
dry oceans of
bone dust

I taste the
wreckage of
crumbling faces
I know the pale
thing in the
darkest of places

Slow desolation
like a funeral
procession
The lovely one
screams like she's
caught between
stations

I eat the razor, a
mouthful of God's
flesh
Sweating this
blackness,
I am shutting this
cold death

I remember blood
from the thighs of
the mother
As everything is
eaten by another

How much more
must we bleed her
I cut their throats
while they slept
I wept
I peel b…