And What About Life? (Cento Poem)

And What About Life?

Can I have this dance, and tell everyone you were a good wife, a fragmentary lapse of reason caught in the alcove you call your mind, above the drumming Jamaican tongues, all winter long?
Honey on my right eye.
Writing is dangerous, the beauty of the cycle never stopped knot.
Stomping like a child, weathered signs of danger speak.
Be respectful when you confess to him, as you’ve discovered certain pleasures.
You were like an angel, until you took a sip of death. You began to redefine heaven.
We are scalding and beautiful, like stone.
Ignored.
Out where the crows dip to their kill.
Possession, I’m just a little preoccupied and I hope you die, and I hope you blink before I do.
The magic has faded, tasting each fingertip and remembering. Love is not inspired by obedience.
A survivor of death and time, down the storm drain, there is no slight of alabaster-hand.
I’ve known her, from ample nation. We are scalding and beautiful, we come from a place made of purple and rugburn brown.
This is for dim lighting and whispering…