• say it with your whole black mouth

    i am alive by luck at this point. i wonder
    often: if the gun that will unmake me
    is yet made, what white birth

    will bury me, how many bullets, like a
    flock of blue jays, will come carry my black
    to its final bed, which photo will be used

    to water down my blood. today i did
    not die and there is no god or law to
    thank. the bullet missed my head

    and landed in another. today, i passed
    a mirror and did not see a body, instead
    a suggestion, a debate, a blank

    post-it note there looking back. i
    haven't enough room to both rage and
    weep. i go to cry and each tear turns

    to steam. I say I matter and a ghost
    white hand appears over my mouth