Monday, August 24, 2009

inside the cave

There’s an elongated finger

pointing at me wagging in reproach,

like the branch of a tree on a tree

it creeps into me

and will not let me forget.

How you are faded purple,


it will not let me forget.

I could not survive it

and now

I heave, you leave

a thumb print in ink

dramatic little lines.

In a broken chair in your broken brain

I sit.

What it must be like

to be you

all that grime

peeling off like a slug

leaving wet spaces.

I can crawl

into your snail’s shell

through coal and mud and fire.

Like a priest I will bow my way in.

I am white-washed,

carry me home


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