Don’t be afraid to admit it
Dead people cannot walk in the hair of a woman
Dead people are not allowed to sleep in a woman’s glory
Dead people cannot carry ladders into a pharmacy

Don’t be afraid to admit it
Death drinks urine from the dairy sheds of ink markers
And wakes up in laundromats spinning inside blood womb gastronomies

Don’t be afraid to admit it
That you cannot enter the tomb of a dead earwig
With a valentine card from Vlad the Impaler

Don’t be afraid to admit it
Naked
You came into
The bureau of investigation
Where a table laden with nipples
Hung onto
A lamp above the jellyfish
Smelling salts
Of Appomattox
Where the confederacy
Sewed nasal sprays
Onto tattooed leather skins