diaristically, the Last Poem

summer slucked in, naked and hands out — summer
glazed into fall. five days, count-down: white-blood bride
previous lover is plastic applicator of doomed science. once
more with feeling, and feeling half-awake/flailing, dedicate this to my
unmaking – New Woman, how will she write, once she is finally
pricked? new art new sincerity i will also haunt the local
dennys 24 hours to a novel. new woman coming home to the same
house, hello to you my lover, in sickness — here’s (nostalgia-toast)
to what i will write, after; when the sky comes breaking down
break me half-inside, pull out wet/soiled milk with your
teeth. house in the clouds in the trees and his hand will
erupt. I take this man — to be his wife.