Michael (Anthony) Cabrera

A Litany For Paper Clips

breath One

the mourning heir traipses

blue, too, begins its pale arc


breath Two

Hello, she says

Inheritor of the dawn

begone, or low and slow

the lonely pulse


breath Four

Be this before i know


will forget

as have i


breath Three

the dice are made of Glue

what more can I do

The alabaster breach

has closed its open arms

Collect my last letter, I dare you

dear feverish




too lost in chemical rhythm


these popular potions fear unwinking slumbers.


for nights forgetting sunrise,


fight the urge of dawn or the


sex of day's: flesh pressed against next day's skin. i greet the


severance of cycles, horizons who


ate my dreams, and ignore the full-stop that may be


knifed: i unfold your tattered


tent, tethered to terra,


elevate the eyelids, await