Look at me, the armless statue, the gaping silence, the doom daughter. I called to leave a message, told you I was going away to a place where you couldn’t find me, and they called out my name in the streets, stared down into murky water under bridges. I lay hidden in a boat, a broken mess of unsailable hope. I was covered in my own poison, utterly soaked, and no one ever found me, until I awoke sober and ashamed. I walked barefoot through traffic towards my home, wolf breath, the bully blowing smoke, laughing me black like withered ash, dark resin, the scrape of a ghost over glass. I want to be the Woodswoman of daily syringes, walk detecting steel in my blood. You enter me endlessly, a stranger, a lost mast, what the wind blew in, what the comets dropped. Starchild, black hole, cyclone. I unwill your fluid gaze from the body of ice, my mother, the antichrist. Screaming walls, screaming falls down tubes not meant to hold. The kicking, the kicking, the termination. I bleed it out of me 12, 20 and 6. It breaks even, no placenta, only this warm gush in the morning, in the moon tide, unwanted. My arms are my arms are…look what I hold, this is not yours, this is not mine, this will not keep, a thousand emptied syringes, a highway leading out, high tide, low sun, afterglow of spent agony. In bed with a stranger again, father, the water, the sky, the hell fire, a triangle of incongruity.