Saturday, April 23, 2011

Poisoner’s Song

Quitting you was like chelating
my blood. Still, the residuals.

After all these years you’re under
my skin, crammed in those fatty

layers between the hard front I face
the world with and the slippery

guts I hide. Only once I laid
them out on the table. Surgical,

your honed thumbnail made
an augury, proclaimed no angels

would return to this barren land.
I was okay with that, so long

as you, too, stayed away. Winged
or not, I can’t fit you inside me.

No comments: