all

five

the earth is the only thing
that has not found me
all so much skin
deathlessly behaving

with, to man, bones
disagreeing
with, on another, horns
interlocking

hushed and unkept—all that i get
for not being sacred enough
all's threat, all's fear,
eyes to all are carvers away
to saving

hoping for a little televangelical
cadence in the sting, of course,
for this little life

a little something maybe i
could look after, one that i
know would not spare an
eye to look for me