Blindly,
I embed
each razored
word I speak,
like dormant seeds,
into the surrounding
ground. Then wait,
without surprise,
for the vindictive
vines to snake
along my legs
and spine stripping
flesh from bone,
like butchers applying
their keen knives
to the unvoiced
tendons of
the dead;
until I wail
long ululations
of despair
to the wind,
as if my coy
innocence
had not vanished
like breath
into the icy air’s
silence
with the first
soft words
I spoke
to you.
(from a work in progress, “Arcana, VIIIswords, February 27, 2014)
subtext 