lamprey

his body sleeps low beneath the water,
you don’t know what you’ll tell your daughter.
but something else was underneath him;
demon, god-starved soul. a heathen
way to act, but they can’t blame you
for taking out the trash, the sinew
building up and stretching out;
she’ll never trust now what’s within you.
things which comes across as anger,
hatred, soul-suck, pangs of hunger,
birds of prey. a prayer for your town;

don’t let him wake up in the place where he drowned.

There will be times when the words don’t quite fit;

not inside your mouth, on your fingertips,

outside of situations in your head or near your hips.

There will be times when you’ll breathe much too fast

and regret will pool, and regressing snaps

you back towards yourself, away from my panic attacks.

There will be times that you’ll think back to me

and you’ll bite back sleep, and you’ll lucid dream

and conjure words that start with “L” and sometimes end in “E”.