Your Gifts Are Poison

I killed something on this glowing planet:
a heart made of bones that blooms in black rain.

I saw a ship disappear on the horizon.
What color hole did it leave in the sky?

I heard your call near the end of my intestines,
responded from the frayed cartilege of my larynx,

woke soaked in piss, lived in frozen silence,
waited for you in the pockets of my pockets.

I came here to move how many tons of garbage?
Today, I filled all the holes in again.

I slurred through a litany of futile supplication,
lungs filled with breath from a trillion roaring quasars,

and you, wrapped in fabrics like a goddess,
dropping futile dreams in my flung-about brain.