“the flux of language through which the subject tirelessly rehashes the effects of a wound.” – – Roland Barthes
he turns and flops and turns again
a well dressed monkey with a cup
dancing to a hurdy gurdy’s chime
the blood dried to scab despite
his fingered rehash and revision
of each word he said and heard
he ate her loquacious dreams
spent hours then days now years
savoring them in their entirety
the words came to lacerate his throat
filling his belly with dire sustenance
a belief his meaning meshed with hers
until he devoured both him and her
in an implosion of sin collapsing
like the last spasms of a dying sun
(March 7, 2015)
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