I want dark marble over everything I want
no longer living. Small animal outline
on the sidewalk. Above, a large bird colors in 
the shape with hunger. My mouth too holds 
headstones. Write your name on my teeth 
and watch as your body overflows with grass. 
This isn’t about reasons. We have nothing to do 
with grief. If we die only once let it be with fireworks 
in our hair. Some nights I shake a magic eight ball 
in my palms, rotating this small earth, eyes closed,
chanting not today. This a way of talking out loud 
to no one. Of mastering death before it finds me. 
I wear a pendant around the cool of my chest
and think thunder, slab. I get this close to vulgar.