1. a river runs through me and i cannot

 
a river runs through me and i cannot 
say no; the slim cuts holed between my limbs allow it.
the box of my chest outlined in negative space,
holes of collarbones, rigid in their permissive emptiness.
  a river runs through
me and i cannot cry; tears stretched into 
oblong drops join its flow. swirling through my
toe holes. the purple reflection of the sky 
cries back at me, in loops and drips passing
through my calf. its shallow voice asks 
me why i have carved cutouts of lace doilies
  in my bones. 
a skeletoned body: white orchids of ribs blooming
outward and connecting inward. a lacework of
calcium hardened by the briny waters 
rushing on all sides, encasing. 
  a river runs through me and i 
cannot explain my desire; i need its rushing 
and crashing and mumbling in my bone holes, moving 
me forward in the currents of its flow without
a tumbling into the complete end of
  purple and drops and cavities and roaring
just the nameless rush of neverending waters


Inspiration from Beth Stone's Papercut, Sabin Aell's 1st Day, Carianne Mack Garside's Day 1, Steve Ersinghaus' the end of the world and the beginning of everything else.