[Miracles Are Taxis She Just Cant Hail]

—zoom in     standing
in vogue, body cracked as if fallen,
as if the gods have pushed her from
the heights, and here to the
lurid pulse of the beat she writes her
suicide note across the dancefloor

hand straight as the pressing of her hair
pointed to the very heavens in defiance
of the deities who expelled her
“To Whom It May Concern…”
we read the etching of her hips, the flip of her wrists
like a codex found in the caves of gibraltor

we gather in our hands her shattered grace
to make balms
for the wounds
the divinity of our lives inflicted
her broken body begging for adulation
and a cab ride home

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