I brace against the bow
where the Isis meets the Thames
beneath St. Anne’s
the tree flowers outside her window
she pays extra for the solo room
closet sized pale pink
a young man’s a bullet
launched by others
the ballistics expert comes later
perturbations in the metal
ballooning out the head
the impact site
a dimpled crater
the auras a generator
whining refrigerator
the past burns silent
filling apartments
the slug flowers out
stretching into limbs
radiating towards the sky
I was told I was a killer
but the hit wasn’t lethal
magic mother Isis
trickles under the almond dawn redwood blasts
seeking my heart
to burn it out
candles run against me towards the bells
ringing over the flowers
we’re dead but our bodies keep running
haunting is a form of love
love a form of haunting
I no longer pay the tab
I just stand outside the pub
and watch