The Lady of the Lake and Other Homeless Monsters

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Tumble down these steppes, grass-stains inking 
chlorophyll lovesongs as scabs on your knees
when you hurtle into my lonely lake, surface

breaking into breathing bubbles, silvery-gills
opening as new mouths along the side of your
neck. Your lips are so blue, baby, the water

is cold, I know. There could’ve been
some song in the water streaming
my hair upon your face– listen– but

my Sirens are long dead. Breath easy, inhale
my leiotrichous locks with your last breath,
taste the unsalt sweetness, these smoke-strands

of dried tears, dire and dark, the epoch
of a twisted fairy-tale (let down your midnight
hair). Eat of my blackened cotton-candy

mane in this blue-deep. I wrap my pale fingers
around your chest, listen to the thumping
wardrum of your human heart, slow, slow

slow…

Stop.

Cough. Up. Your. Pretty. Heart. To me.
Let me. Rake back the sweet arch
of your neck. Lean in to me, let me
plant the seeds for these poison-trees
in your eyes. Go back and grow
a monster-forest for me, darling, sing
to this ghost-less binary world, be my
leaf-eyed prophet leading them all
to our valley-lake of homeless

freaks.