Lizzy Burnam 🐞

You know, the name doesn’t matter, 
grand scheme. CV this, survived by that. 
Every hieroglyph is just the space 
where once was limestone, and our lives are just
stories written in blood and sometimes sweat. 

How lack folds into itself like flower petals 
closing to the setting sun. 
Coupon this, tax return that. 
The whole world grimaces at the same image
on different screens, as famous to each other 

as to themselves. Hollow this, infinite that.
Why not eclipse my mouth with your mouth, 
bear witness to flesh over bone while it’s still there?
I want to be the storm that turns your heart 
to pulp—a small chaos 

in your big order, like stones tumbling 
from living cliff to ocean’s call. 
We made it here because this is where 
we are—and for no other reason. You know, 
that obituary didn’t sound like you at all.