--IT’S LIKE PICKING UP TRASH IN DRESSES

                                               i want to

              i want to      die      in a port      with other leaky vessels     and strangled mermen      i want to die     in a barbaric desert     lick a cactus to death      watch the sun corrupt     the bleeding moon     i     want     to      die      sooner than later       at least by friday     five pm or sometime            around nine     before the neighbors get nosey     i want to      die waiting     die combing        my yearning scalp      i want to die     placid as a drugged     or boneless     lamb      in your open arms