Lady Day

lady sings the blues in the key of g:
a half-sharp ode to time’s mistress—
her rival. she bares an empty chest
of wine, breaks hearts like bread
and we scamper for crumbs. we
eat the lady when she rings hollow
and shards of ribcage shred
our canvas throats; drop her mouth
into plastic and zip her skin over
eyes, until gaping husks milk an ocean
from shriveled satin, or
until lady dies to the tune of minor:
thrashing worm of moon-dust and tar,
gentle cantillation to time’s mistress
like blue was warm,
and she was whole.