Letting Blood Work


 the moment

to boil

to pounce coldly

to flash and chill

  to intoxicate the spine


 between beats and blinks

    with organs and muscles flexed


smothering at birth in mortal kisses

staining forever

stamping the flavor as instinct


 running dark-rose red over

          battle grounds

common ground

burial grounds


 a mover and shaker

of  instant manhood

of lost maidenhead

of spilt confession


  the under-the-skin ghost

chants to

 the liquid chord mother

“to bleed or not to bleed”




       blue vein roads

    leading back to

the moment






I hammered our 20 year union into a needle, wove our dry rot vows into a workable thread, and sewed your lips shut like a mummy; and yet, you still mumble acidic murmurs from both sides of your scarecrow mouth. Does my flesh feel like wet straw as well? How do you manage it from deep within my castle? As bride you quickened my groomed heart.  Now those same heartbeats are mere detours from death.



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