if news could take a figure
it would crack me at the throat
split the dam like a dagger
cuts the jugular
scratch the blood out of me
till it spills in liters
a shattered faucet
i clutch to what stays of me
to the sweat that curdles
at my eyes
and my constipated heart
a voice cracks
on the phone splitting time
with its minutes of death
bolting me to this gravel
and maggot filled earth
with its icy command:
Stay and listen and listen and listen
to the cracks on the phone
the cracks as the body cremates
"Your Grandfather is dead."
and I can feel my head
tilting tilting tilting
off its neck
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