blue bottle
sunshine scent
i keep
in my pocket
a dull sausage,
impaired
beyond this
sunset tomb.
a scathing searing
motion,
agitating fevered
pricked prodded
into fond thoughts.
blue
bottle
sunshine scent
start a countdown
for this
blessed hope,
A lost and found
parking lot, come undone.
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Because I was good and ever obliging,
fifteen dark-hooded gentlemen reward with needles
that they stick, one by one, into
the bulging hollow of my flailing bicep.
If they’d caused pain, they do not apologise.
They laugh at the pricks pinning my brittle arm.
Bright crimson flows from my veins
into a ravenous crucible that they collect and keep.
The screw turns one thread at a time.
They pry my jaws with cast-iron tools
and paint my mouth a garish red,
So I grin the chagrin of misled fools,
and lock my tongue in a heart-shaped box.
They threw the key away.
With a swift flick of the scapel
the gentlemen neatly separated
my needs and desires into equal halves,
interred in a bell jar glassine with glee.
Bright crimson flows from my veins
and my body surges in active emotion
like Pinnochio, the wooden boy
tasting a paper cut for the very first time.
By the time they were done
there were no preconceptions left.
I was drained, and grateful to them
for revealing the mettle I was made of:
not an entity but a well-worn tool,
still serving its intended design. A gold star
was pinned on my shoulder,
and they tore my face off from the roster.
Then they released my limbs from the restraints
stained red from trying and faint from crying
I walked home, a skinned hag, beaten and exact.
No preconceptions left. Whatever substance,
precious and mine, were leached clean of alchemy,
down a gurgling pipe, flushed and drained away.
Among lilies, this valentine place,
what was left of my faith and undemanding heart
rose and ebbed like a bed of flowers, crumpled, barren.
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‘fore i fall to slumber deep
i pray for my prayers to keep
in the hours i was sound sleep
– it did.
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