Poems from The Journey to Kailash VIII
Mike Allen / Monday, April 25th, 2011 / 1 Comment »
Giving Back to the Muse
She wears a necklace of knives and eyes, a sash sewn from flags and faces, boots welded from bomb fragments, a belt of hangman’s rope. You fear she’ll see you watching but you can’t look away, not even once she notices your stare. She is medium cool; she requires all your senses to impart the vision, stab your eyes, shred your feet, strangle you in half and burn your face away. Your sinuses crack like eggshells. Your loins avalanche blood. You put your tongue in her mouth, let her chew and swallow. What use were your words ever anyway?
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