<\/p>\n
This house we built with its abundance<\/p>\n
Of suffering, a hundred sealed windows.<\/p>\n
Where do your prayers find you? No, no!<\/p>\n
The waters keep on running in this hell &<\/p>\n
The birds were all plucked of their tongues<\/p>\n
As if saying to all the quiet, tongue-less birds<\/p>\n
Who\u2019s to save you now when your rituals<\/em><\/p>\n Are plunged deep into the tall, red ground?<\/em><\/p>\n He walked for miles down a narrow hall<\/p>\n With no doors. His feet grew tired. He fell<\/p>\n To his knees without a tongue to give voice.<\/p>\n Foreign body, those aren\u2019t his hands no more.<\/p>\n He\u2019s building this house. God ain\u2019t here,<\/p>\n Just a procession of breathing wings<\/p>\n Trying to find their way out. There\u2019s no escape.<\/p>\n Prayer by prayer trapped in a wooden box<\/p>\n & spilled over Just one more time, one more<\/em>.<\/p>\n He\u2019s breaking a nail into his wood, one by one.<\/p>\n The waters keep on running, spilling into him,<\/p>\n One by one. He continues to drown with his<\/p>\n Sealed off mouth. Not a prayer to let go of.<\/p>\n No. Not now. Not ever. He\u2019s too tired<\/p>\n Building a home with broken glass & raw hands.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Not quite out of the woods, he\u2019s got a funny<\/p>\n Walk. Tender was the word I ought<\/p>\n Not to have used but I\u2019m here with twigs<\/p>\n Scattered throughout my hair like a myth.<\/p>\n Wanted dead, I coughed up blood while<\/p>\n The man fucked me with a handful of Lubriderm<\/p>\n & a pocketful of change.<\/p>\n My voice sounds different with so many<\/p>\n Tongues locked inside of my mouth.<\/p>\n This isn\u2019t about sex. This is about the tender<\/p>\n Crunch of each step I make moving toward<\/p>\n Something. But, first, more spit.<\/p>\n After, I zip-up my pants. How\u2019s that for conclusive?<\/p>\n I have a pocketful of coins: the fruits<\/p>\n Of my labor. My thighs, mango puss.<\/p>\n See me differently. This tourniquet hurts.<\/p>\n Stop, you\u2019re hurting me. There\u2019s the clearing.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Where do your prayers find you? <\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":6321,"template":"","categories":[9,49,119],"tags":[1814,6,1815,201,1816],"class_list":["post-6316","article","type-article","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-aquifer","category-literary-features","category-poetry","tag-anthony-aguero","tag-aquifer-the-florida-review-online","tag-god-aint-here","tag-poetry","tag-tourniquet"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nTourniquet<\/h3>\n