Erik Fuhrer

 

marshwound


un button 
the walrusy 
sponginess
of my skin

  this sickness
replicates
my molar sin 
in the eternal 
sunshine 
of glut 

reminds me
of the time


you
op ened
a hole
in a star
by bleeding
so loudly
through
your teeth
that the entire sky
un buttoned
its collective sweater
and
dropped
its
organs

or the time
the son of god

blew 
op en 
my mind
with a 45
caliber 
meant for 
his father 
but I 
got in 
the way 
see I was 
on my knees
see I was 
scrubbing 
myself clean
baptism 
by blood and teeth

now I am
a marshwound


with a feather
of what I once was
shut 
in my 
willowmouth