The wind bloweth where it listeth...

My baby lives in the skinny
of the hypotenuse
converging lines that disappear
you can look at her from any angle
around the swinging noose
you can't tell she's even here
and I breathe slow and deep
in a long, unbroken sleep
dreaming and scraping my thighs
I suckle the teet that satisfies
while parts of you fall off and die

my baby lives in a shoebox
and licks the road clean with her tongue
sucking on a bit of damp cloth
the glass is always empty
filling it half full with lung
the recalcitrance of her cough
the floggings will not continue
till your body is put on the menu
but the one-eyed undertaker
has gone to meet his maker
can't get past the ticket taker

my baby lives in the septic
vodka, vomit, bursting stars
swirling 'round the vortex
inexplicable bruises
perpendicular scars
are her sacred objects
I miss you cupcake
I won't leave you to your moosey fate
your pepto bismol and your ibuprofen
can't stop your rope from being broken
and your eyes from blinking open