I gave birth to body white, collected to my thighs
Held her there, between my legs, and brought my knees up high
And she slid out, I don't know how
She slid out, I don't know how

And you left your meat all in the leaves
Gathering sweat from the graves
And you, body cistern, I brought you a sister
From what holes I could not crave
But I'll go, and be brave, I'll go and be brave:
I only have faith in what is good, in what is good

I knew a boy who built an aviary
He gathered all the wood that he could carry
I pulled from his chest to get blind from the bees
And we exchanged helium because we're tired of ceilings

I found him bucked out, like a jarhead
His antlers found seaweed from an ocean bed
And he carried carvings of his own geography
But had he stabbed his own eyes out, so he couldn't see

I said: "I don't want to be your wife
I couldn't stand to do this my whole life
My breast milk is heavy, and you don't have
The strength to help me with this baby."
And when we pull out of each other
I ask you if you can tug me off
You ask me if I can put you out
You ask me if I can put you out
Like wildfire, and drag the shit from each other
All the fluids from your mother
I can barely stand in your lake disease again
With your vomit up to my waist

And in the hospital they ask me if I know where your parts go
But I tell them your body isn't made from skin they know