poem: little russia (reborn, reborn)

claire takes the window in mouthmeal-pieces; winged eyes, she waits
for the descent. he comes home late at night and dissolves — curled into
the pillow (like it is a woman) reading his phone at 4 a.m. sitting in the eye of the land and
the invisible child stirs in her stomach. in her dreams she is raped
and crawls bloody back to the apartment; he
comforts her. the apartment needs framed: unicorn in captivity and
pattern of life
and death. it is pleasurable to sweep but there is always dirt
under the sills, this is book 1. she knows it — a hero for our time —
she waits for absolution.