Tuesday, September 06, 2011

The Cruelest

I'm still working on this one:

The Cruelest

It turns on you
slaps your face with
rough cut diamonds
your blood is sweet
as it flows in ribbons
toward a heaving, gray
filled with flotsam
and jetsam

you will wash up on shore
crusted over with wounds
your heart, scored with gutters

the first person you see
you have to ask:
Where am I?
How do I get there?
When she points to the map of scars
over your skin,
you have no choice,
and there’s a ragged, “oh no,
not again” on your lips.

you find the tool
where you left it, soldered to your hand
wired to the soft part of your brain
so you can begin the
whole damn thing
over again.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I love this, Eri!