RogueAgent

If you spell hip backwards it does not read
     birth
All my infants walk like stones falling from a crow's
    beak

I lick juice from all the spongey
   loose
I have the legs for this kind of
    ache
Bent in the spidery
   places

That’s why my gods outnumber yours in
    arms
Half digit monarchy goats Himalayas to
     salt
that pinks their bellies to blood
   moon

I know my inserthood by the way my
    skeleton
puts on its fur one leg at a time then
   scarecrows
there in my father's
    denim

the untouchable is a tired string of
   pearls
made into a ball gown when I
   walk
the only clicks are magpies winking at my
    sparkle

forgive me winter for my betrayal my
    bones
slander you after pickpocketing your signature
    blush

There is a forever summer where
   naked
is my favourite wedding
    dress.

Adornment ends at the widows
    peak
of a grandmothers unshakable
   vermillion

I can’t stand the sight of my
   limpness
All this Angle hair pasta and I take a
   spoon
to the salted water and drink my
    fill

The pasta witch wears my nonnas
   apron,
tied around her middle like a rusty
    curse

for me to choke up spells from rolling
    pins
and ladles my pelvis first mother will never
    taste

I envy the angle of my brother’s
   back
Sternum of sturgeon, ox to my
   mule

If I microwaved my right
   toe
I might find a shoe to make me
   dance
longer than braid could cane
    me

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