the ammonite an index of sutures

i got tired of cataloging them

hermetically sealing little traumas

afraid they'd get to know one another go boom

little mother catastrophes instead

i smashed little rocks to bits in a ditch

each shard a memory released pressure

from stomach the common burial ground

the cavity of accumulation

each little box coated in dust and feelings

each glass stone chamber not really secret

i get ready to shatter the discretions

i open my palms no explosions no pain

coalesce little traumas wrap your wounds

around each other a chrysalis blood

a becoming of feathers of air a fire

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