Thursday, February 9, 2017


Mother’s teeth and talons
RIP skin, pieces of flesh;
torn from my abdomen
bits of this and that
searching for an organ
I’ve hidden far from
her gleeful cannibalism.

Father’s civilized
knife and fork
puncture my surface,
where a lost river
of moments,
undistinguished events,
left above high tide line,
dry and blow away,
to float with clicking,
irrhythmic taps
on severed limbs
each braceleted with buoys
of broken light in odd colors
passing in an endless
holiday season.

this treasure can be found,
even shrouded under a blanket
of sleepless sleep,
its klaxon,
against impending drift,
ringing for eternal routine.

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