- Non-Erotic Poetry
- What It Bleeds
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You're only seeing
what it bleeds. The
offense, emotional
equivalent of a thumb
tack in the fat pad
of a pinky finger.
Retribution - category
seven, lock down shutters,
buy gallons of water, prep
the storm drains for bodies!
Numbers of the dead inside
scrawled on former homes in
nonchalant spray paint. War.
Wind and water battered piles
of underwear, toys, and dental
floss, tampons, the family pet
carcass and rice at the foot
of every driveway.
- COMMENTS
Anonymousover 8 years agoSolemn Silent Witness (or, The Myth of Redemptive Violence)
I recognize
the shape of the wound.
Spare said: "Magic is but
one's natural ability
to attract without asking."
Sigil into self harm into sigil.
Ouroboros shits the magic out.
Without tears for what might have been.
Without hope for the future.
We both know not everybody can be saved.
I recognize
the shape of the wound
by what comes out.
