here is beasts by David McLean

here is beasts, they are always
angry almost. i aspire to this hateful

i reassemble myself
dismembered. here fragmentary
& nothing wrong with it.

identity is a defective whore
i prefer the fang, the nowhere
but my mythical animal she is

disconsolate. & i am but meat
& resurrection, stitched together
with memory, like May in her movie

gorgeous, what she wants is pieces
of people, disjecta membra
which i love to be, scissors

that snip & bits of me. Emma
if you want them reassemble
as needed – we are nothing & free

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