taut

you have lain bare amongst the raw
petals of your pain arranging them
into the lines of history.
the tributaries of a life-line
always pushing to now.
Razor blade smiles and the
slow parade of doubt's daily
crucifixion give the ink shape.


Surely there are moments of bright
feral joy but the demons don't remind
you and the heart has no hands
for such elusive prey.


You had no chance of ignorance
but sometimes momentary blindness
is good enough




.