the destroyer > text > Jessie Janeshek
THE BEST OF MY LOVE
There’s a drip-drop of martyrdom
to the hitchhiking kid
who climbed in your Buick
begged me to hide
his blood-stained tire iron
made me want to fly shiny
release a trapeze
and whenever I bathe
that ragdoll that means us
she dries off hairy, smelling like hay.
Her cry snags on green clouds
one more day the creek's zenith
my need to be held
wild Christ on my knees
my need for a scythe.
Some of our knives have been stolen, lost lids
but I still fight the ghost cats
lonely and angry to wit.
So let me scratch this
on the back of our death
fill our night gloss
with hobnails and latitudes.
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