sandman
the garnets in yr ring
gleam as wet tumors do
above somewhere a dove
coos uselessly
frost powders the grass
every nippy morning
winks in sour sun & I
sore on my skeleton,
bristle & hiss
wrap me in yr black cloak, konstábl
let me somnambulate a little while
moldering w / desire more devilish
than ever
limbs heavy as coffin lids
sleep sweet as tea cakes
rings
I misplace my rings
for four days & nights
the thought of their
bloodsponge rubies
& wicked diamonds
heckling til I cry myself dry
chaplipped & wheezing
we pick apart clumps
of dryer lint
tear open bags of last
week’s garbage
rot hanging in january
air, snow sparkling
under flashlights
perhaps they are
some hierophantic fetish
mere metal symbols
of my failing containment
objects to be twisted
when unease creeps in
we go to the funeral home
hours after close I cannot
let him in
fumbling for lightswitch I
glance at my visitors
one waterfat & green
another younger than
this husband
& feel nothing
post-
I prep only for a day &
everything clings
even soaped my parched
hands reek
think what it means to be
opened
of who does the opening
& an unattended faucet
is always trickling
it is only natural
to crave & to carve
I mean if this month
you watched an artery bleat
in the throat of some lover
know I have held that thing
Emily Murman is an autistic poet & mortician. She holds an MFA in poetry from National University & is the author of four chapbooks, “SHRIVEL AND BLOOM” (Dancing Girl Press, June 2021), “I want your emergency” (Selcouth Station Press, July 2021), “all the light in here” (Ghost City Press, June 2023), & “hey nonino” (Dancing Girl Press, July 2024). Emily lives in Chicago with her husband & two sphynx cats.