She Told Me
She told me
about the wasting of days
and nights feeding lies to herself.
Powders like coffins
set end to end,
sucking broken bodies
up her nose.
That's what she told me.
But
she couldn't say why
live in a suffering death house
or send her mind
to a dead-end place,
why unravel the knitted
life of good things.
She never told me that.
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