Hive Lungs - Vitriol

Ribs plucked from a cage

Like fingers from a maternal fist

They snap from jointless seams

And a stripped palm blossoms

White marrowed iron

A field pronged belly with stakes of bone

Find a frozen wind and pregnant breath there

In hive lung

Nests, swollen of shattered wasps

They’re fencing back broken glass

I can hear their fire —

It is perfect

May I open your gates?

So that I might fashion rungs from your breast

And climb fractured steps

To the beating life in your chest

To tear it from those hands of a broken mother

And spit in her face as she seeks comfort

For I have taken her son

These wounds

Mended by our death…

It is something I pray for