I repeat my rage.
Repetition fades the cause,
but wound rehash one day, specific,
everyday as if in a bloody Western
I walk thirsty down some great canyon,
but you compensate with your nails
tracing tall tales on the wound,
and I weave them because punishment
is not an option – a necessity indeed,
if not in reality then in imagination.
Then some nights the rage returns from
a cemetery, not the same, not alive, and
confusion fuels its anger. You hide all sharp instruments.
Blunt it is then, babe.
Illustration Nick Victor
Authored ‘The Circus Came To My Island’, ‘A Place For Your Ghost Animals, Understanding The Neighborhood’, ‘Scratches Within’, ‘Kleptomaniac’s Book of Unoriginal Poems’, ‘Eternity Restoration Project- Selected and New Poems’ and now ‘Herding My Thoughts To The Slaughterhouse-A Prequel’ (Alien Buddha Press)