tree of matches 

in the grove we once wore 
only our first communion faces.
felt the pull of the ocean
calling us to become just wood.
sailor men on the shore
blowing kisses to the mermaids.
jellyfish carcasses. a gutted moon.
eating what is left. i tell you
do not stetched your shoudlers 
or unhinge your jaw. i do not know
what kind of move will be what it takes
to strike an arm against an arm.
i have seen a man with windows 
that held in the fire. a boiling house.
melted bars that once kept
the irises in. i did not mean to grow like this.
i bloomed & then each day became
a new red fist. the roses bite
my ankles. there is a bouquet 
of snakes. i always wanted 
to bear a rocket ship. something 
to send off with all the bad news.
instead. i became a danger 
to myself & others. there are people
who would pluck my fruit. 
they are the kind of people
who fill their throats with kindling
& then blame the fire they swallowed
for the destruction. fire only comes
to seal the deal. lick the envelope. 
i should know. i should know.
i am one of those people.

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