uncut

The alchemist pours into the crucible

blood and wine and the ash of

last night’s burned bed.

With a deft and icy finger he stirs the rancid brew

until it whirls against the Earths rotation

thereby eliminating any connection to its life-giving forces.

I drink without flinching.

My eyes do not wet at the rising acid.

I do not belch out the accumulated gall.

I inhale the smoke and allow it to burn

my belly

the sacrificial meat.

*

I stand atop the cold stone before the moon

expecting illumination.

The night remains dark.

*

The little girls draws spiders on a page

for a boy

because boys like spiders.

Just not little girls who draw spiders for them.

*

My heart inside my chest

both gives and takes my life

the line that would define it remains

uncut.

*

Reviews

[frivolous treasures]

Wow. Very vivid imagery and nicely penned verse... this just blew me away!

[Lushan]

Thank you!