What I want is to grow something in my leprous chest

that will last forever     something that withstands

the elements     a perennial breath in these walls lined


with charred coke     I am a citadel of bone plastered

with silver-tinged flesh and petroleum blood     in a few

years there will only be ruins of ash and powdered


marrow     nothing left to bloom in the early-morning

hours     unless I can shape the gravel in my stomach

into daylilies     burning like a handful of flame