It begins with the word, of the
mouth that shaped it, the breath
that cups it, and the
body that makes it
I was a pile of flesh
that refreshes itself every 10 years
goes on living, building a dam, for
the rain that beats my body all night
on the parts that hurt, that thirst
even after swallowing the length of a river
I asked though, to be severed—my legs, my arms, my mouth
cut from where the weather gathered
as if removing the mouth from the river will stop
it from flooding, but a sea is fed
by multiple mouths, and the world is crowded
with many seas
(Pain lives in the body like thirst
tightening to desire
turning back
towards the body it needs to bruise)
if a lake merges into ocean, it is impossible
to say where a raindrop goes
but I still want to say it, as if naming could break it—
the breath renewing my origin like smoke learning its
rings, open to dissolve the unseen of, the dearest thirst—
cracking pain inside me
(Desire eats its own address)
I tore from my forced intimacy with the tongue
which thins me
it causes the helpless desire to spill—
I was told to cut off
my tongue to stop wanting—
