To Skate On Sun

Here’s a tourniquet.
Wash it clean, practice your most stone
Eyes while
The red swirls the basin -
A chained tornado.

This is what childhood teaches you;
The split lip, the wash away.
“the cards play funny for everyone”
Queen, up.
Sorcerer’s heart, you’ve got -
The one that prays at the edge of the winner’s
Sword
So you know,
My dear,
That this death is consistent, right?
Your waking is the rewind of illustriousness;
Of who your mother couldn’t be
Of who you remind the gods most of -
Of Yaa, of The last eclipse

This body is not for you —
Ha, Please.
We give the armor to the soldiers
Who will not
Die
To the ones who will return to their children
In stark vacancy.

Take offense, whatever.
But we need the broken, here.
Those are the ones who are
Ugly enough to win.