ft. Audre Lorde

I   cannot contain these multitudes. I’m not that kind of    crater.
Is    there any rage more pure than the ancient unruliness   of
the    damned? I am as tired a diaphragm as godly silence      remains
total   ,  and now the sounds of living hell have leaked into the    pitch.
Black      as perfect chaos and earth’s diamond-frosted gums, mad    as
being      limitless and nonetheless landing like an ice sack in    the
spoken     -for grave an ocean can’t help but be, my loves have    burst
from    the cradle I carved out of mantle. What was like my    heart
the    little terrors fed themselves, and now, gaping under the    stars
earth’s    offspring keep resembling—shooting, falling, dead and    left
inside    time like swallow holes—I have no tender to tuck them    behind.