emptying my pockets beneath the skyline

write with the purest gesture of your death
in the lowered coffin of your heart write
that one bird more beautiful will still fly
in your eyes that become holes

see the destruction of steps backward
and the poverty of the soil in your face
it is i
this lost love
fuck
drink, taste
smell and forget
in the drunken magnitude of the steel spade
this lost soil of skin
rising above our heads