30 August 07

Bound

The white-coated man
threads a needle
— black silk —
and trusses a quadrant
neat and tight, like a turkey.
I feel only dark shadows,
the thread on my lip,
to and fro, fro and to.
Cranberry hypnosis,
Narcotics: then sleep.

I truss up white pages
with cranberry linen
black words of pain,
fear, love, mangled awe.
I tug, with no mercy, through
voids I have drilled,
make a suture-knot,
Tie off. Conceal the ends.
A brilliant shroud
on a journey, beyond.

Posted by at 06:18 PM in Miscellaneous | Link |
  1. Ha! Great analogy.


    Dave    30. August 2007, 19:12    Link
  2. Wonderful.


    Jean    31. August 2007, 02:53    Link
  3. (o)(!)(!)


    Natalie    31. August 2007, 03:21    Link
  4. (o)


    dale    2. September 2007, 01:11    Link

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