Eulogy for Unknown

Midnight carries Grief into the shower.

/clogs the tub/.

/leaves a dirt ring/.

/Stubborn Thing/.

(Sometimes, I worry the /English/ back up into my Mouth

until I am reminded how these Vowels /make mess of me/.

how this Language makes /me a Conquered Thing/ to my Befores

and I solicit /God/ in telepathy,

/angry to make/ use of this /Tongue/

when I know my words/ are not /Light/.

when all /the molars are Aching/ and my Jaw

tires itself/ in a /song of all Flats and Sharps/.)

and then I remember how I am a Girl of Nowhere.

I ask myself:

how can I Pray when I don’t know who I’m praying For?

why wrap Them up in a Language that obstructs all the Beauty of My Mouth?

what is the point of praying for the Already Dead?

does it sidle the Grief into the ankles or push it back Out the bathroom door?

evaporate it on the Mirror?

: A prayer is really a selfish thing.

(my mouth pushes English through the Teeth until I spill Vendetta from my gap.)

I want Graveyards to rise up and bury Cities

damned Plastic Strength.

I want it to rain blood

stain every Home Unforgivable red

I want 7 years of war

the earth Eager to Forget Itself,

until English rots out every Tooth and fills every Mouth with the Taste of Death.