a cold body in wasted latex shreds on
the street. split open at two vertices, a dying star
smoldering in place of a bag of veins and dilute blood.
there's a mother screaming somewhere, her
mouth open and open, gaping supernovas
leaking the sound of grieving. the body
is crumpled up like a gum wrapper, and smells like birds
burnt on telephone poles and too
much chlorine: when the police
draw their yellow lines, and discover
the envelope folded lovingly
between the crevace of the dead
boy's collarbones, it is pronounced
a love crime.
