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Wet stitches
knotted high and pulled
fascia scars
organs grinding
for my own good.


Sanguine ligature
plucks a six-string
hymeneal improv
chaotically jerking me
this way and that
“for entertainment purposes only.”


Cherished with each loving tie
of an overhand knot
cat gut reins degrade via enzymes
as I unplug the cautery
and wait…
to bleed again.


Valves leak
bleeding grids onto an
ivory corset; spreading
sine qua non


I scrape claret-tinted resin
from the surface
cork-patch the holes,
wiped them clean,
and wait…
to slip free.


Plummeting headfirst
into a sea of autumn’s compost
I forage for a
blood-soaked pedon
raising only familiar shards
of glass and wire and plastic.


The cuts are small, so
I continue to float
and wait…
to bleed out.




I lay
in a field of lavender
on a mountain of freedom
in the springtime.


Posted for OpenLinkNight – Week #15 at http://dversepoets.com/