She cannot get it to her mouth fast enough. She cannot
   stop herself.
What rush correspondence of blood replenishes dangerous

deepens umbilical will? There's no stopping it, no one to
   stop it.
As she curls in on herself, she is certain longing is a link
   to breathing.

Give her this good-bye, give her no destiny in desire. No
what she knows, it's not enough. The limit of hunger within
   her blooms

and blooms. The pit in the stomach shines. Measuring the
as a place to hunger after, she shapes its taste in her mind.
   She squeezes

berries till they bleed down her arms, kindles her umbrella fire
until it swarms words back up at her mouth. Always returning

to the farewell feast she fattens on for the future, hunger drops
the perfumed orange bait down into the water. The water
   rises to her

tongue. But she is thirsty as anguish, reminded there is no
   safe place
to go to, no common ground here. So she pays close attention
   to abandon

and the body. If you let it, real desire can rise out of anything:
   bone, whole
fruit, green along the ground, October with its giddy
   confusion of color

and the sure asylum sweating-out dream. But this
   necessary irrepressible
will always be interrupted, and there is no mind-map where
   we choose to perish.