Berries bleed into the ridges of our intentions: dripping from palms and empty psalms

by Nikkin Rader

Berries bleed into the ridges of our intentions: dripping from palms and empty psalms

Babylon was falling to the ground where the loss goes unfound beneath the dirt beds
Take me down to the railroad town
The butterflies you once gave me now dead in the pit of my stomach
their carcasses still on the ground fluttering only in caress of the wind
spitting into the sky wishing bugs could fly like angels harrowing the sinful
children that rubbed the dust off their wings and stepped on their shells to make them
one with the dirt they flew so high to get away from

I eat their antennas for supper and their colors for bedtime
so the dreams can go into messy moist water paints dripping on navels
waiting for teeth bare of lips to drag across the soils of our skins

watch the fireflies fall in the winter
pray he isn’t watching anymore from the yellow fields

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lipstickparty mag has also published “self portrait as a tree” and “when you steal blossoms that refuse to fruit: unbloom stricken out” by Nikkin Rader.

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