COBALT BLOOM BLUES

Strike my eyes from the record.
Put my tongue in rehab.
Wipe the smile from the face
I haven’t made yet. Have me
be born asunder, halfway between
a lamb’s ear and a petal’s slow withering.
Lift me toward the heights that plunge.
Deliver me, an incomplete package,
to the door of my maker, insist
they sign for me, inspect the scrawled
blue ink of their signature, the DNA
bloom upon the page that proves,
“I am the one, I am the one…”