the lines I live between tighten and stretch
a fine steel mesh filters my heart’s discontent
the thickened blood’s oozings onto this page
like the stubby swirls of a child’s finger paint
a labyrinthine turn into return
where the slow plod from hedgerow to hedgerow
transforms the mundane to normality
a fine white gruel ground thin by blackened teeth
the word’s grit spit like broken pecan shells
into the thick ash about the dead fire
clings between tongue and gum clotting
the flow of what thought I have remaining
as I squeeze and tease another brief pulse
from the flaccid miasma of this life
(February 25, 2015)
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