She That is I am

     It was black and oozing out her mouth, dribbling on the floor like a cast aside Pollack sketch. It was a thick ink and there was an ocean still inside. She could feel it urge up her and she could keep it there, in that breath. If she keeps calm and deliberate she can keep her insides for hours, days but those are far away hands. She can see a second spin into a minute and then she seizes in the shoulders and she can’t do anything but excise the poison.

     There are daisies, grass and a sun all made with thick strokes of black. House and cathedrals are all built in the same sloppy earnest frame. In the sky the majestic w flies. Somewhere above, the lady still drips and spews. Her fingers work tirelessly.