Your senses are sharper
when you don’t cut
your hair. Wren says,
it’s an old thing.
sharper for what?
I ask. For war,
says Wren,
it’s a war thing.
Wren shrugs
when I wonder
what war?
MICRO
Your senses are sharper
when you don’t cut
your hair. Wren says,
it’s an old thing.
sharper for what?
I ask. For war,
says Wren,
it’s a war thing.
Wren shrugs
when I wonder
what war?
MICRO
my blue body
red as war
under him.
MICRO
The heart / splits open like / a frost flower—
MICRO
We are one tremendous
field of undulating
flowers
waiting till it happens