There goes Antigone and her bird-bone body building her nest around the
corpse of her brother--I wonder if we are all made for love or if
it is just those of us with feathers and flock:
and what does that say about me who
dug my fingernails into the soft skin under my forearms
and pulled out anything
that dared to grow there? Once my mother told me,
I am going now to my deathbed.
Alright, then. Have a safe trip, I'll cover your body with dust and water.