On My Back

American insults lie in the body.Flail across the knife.

I study the green air plantsthreaded across a chain link fence—

the matchsticks of your lifestartled clean and blazing.

Observe a palate of flesh tonesdisappearing into a starless container.

Reduction its own form of bloodshed.So much depends upon the landscape

before its wildness leeches away.The viewer's assumptions thrown

back at her. As if to say, my queernessis the most natural thing I inhabit.