Michael (Anthony) Cabrera

A Litany For Paper Clips

breath One

the mourning heir traipses

blue, too, begins its pale arc

breath Two

Hello, she says

Inheritor of the dawn

begone, or low and slow

the lonely pulse

breath Four

Be this before i know

you

will forget

as have i

breath Three

the dice are made of Glue

what more can I do

The alabaster breach

has closed its open arms

dear feverish

one

too lost in chemical rhythm

these popular potions fear unwinking slumbers.

for nights forgetting sunrise,

fight the urge of dawn or the

sex of day's: flesh pressed against next day's skin. i greet the

severance of cycles, horizons who

ate my dreams, and ignore the full-stop that may be

knifed: i unfold your tattered

tent, tethered to terra,

elevate the eyelids, await

noon