Sweet Red.

She was carried in a bird’s gizzard 
that had her red plump flesh
covered in juices, melting her
into sweetened goop.
So full she was like nothing before, 
for death did not let 
a single pore go by, that it 
did not infuse to brimming.
Her bones though lay untouched, 
clean and hard, asleep, spat out from the sky
into the moist womb that whetted her
soft and pliable. She parted her lips,
danced fervidly, sprouting up and up
to the brilliant sky once again, her hair now
streaked scarlet watched a little bird on a strand
pluck up by its dainty beak, a ripe red cherry
to be

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