UNTITLED: ON THE POETRY OF
Heather Anne
I want to crawl in your throat
Be invisible to you
Be the pin-size voice embryo that is ok to abort
Be part of the sound that comes out
Be a cell on the saliva of it
Come from the scratch
Jilt from the sound
As I were your
Vibration
End me
I am so fine with that
You can lie and say you have cats
Or just fuck me mute until I understand creation:
the place where I don't have to say dear broccoli
and not this but this
to be real