I have the urge to set fields of wildflowers,
museums full of masterpieces alight.
To be the only one to lay claim to seeing such beauty
an appetite to destroy the opposite side of the coin.
Passion is destruction poised over a well so deep
darkness swallows the bottom
I exist in the moment between dropping a handful of coins;
the eternity between them leaving my hand
and the sound of the splash at the bottom.
I kiss each coin before wishing upon it,
run my tongue over the ridges and taste blood-like metal
the sweat of a thousand grasping hands before mine.
This is not the first I claim for myself
no longer human, never human.
A swirling void of jealously
I hurl myself in front of every child about to
blow out their birthday candles
and do the snuffing myself.
I go back to the out-skirted fields in the summer decay and
take armfuls of seeded dandelions,
empty my lungs wishing on each one.
Let me clamber to the thatched rooftops
and grab the thrown baby teeth only to swallow them whole.
There are no words for what I wish for
as I ran out years ago
but I do not stop.
I pluck my eyelashes bare and put them
in the back of the bottommost drawer;
insurance for a day yet to come or exist.
