I'll hang pretty words like a magpie's collection
from my ribs and my collarbones,
to dance in the breeze of each laboured breath
and rustle together in a dischordant melody
of memories and the carcasses of hopes and dreams.
I hope if I collect enough beautiful thoughts
and string them like pearls on a necklace hung
from my bones
that maybe one day I'll look in the mirror and see something
All of these words and whispers and
half-remembered songs are heavy.