Each mortal thing does one thing and the same: Deals out that being indoors each one dwells; Selves - goes itself; myself it speaks and spells, Crying "What I do is me: for that I came." ~G.M. Hopkins
Friday, September 22, 2006
fish hooks
sober,
I have not known this face
reborn in palest newborn skin
translucent, and
tissue thin
all my nerves unclothed
disgraced, at their own nakedness
I do not know how to use these hands
a flesh of weeping grief
from savage shredded tracks
of grief and joy and hate and fear of love
and of despair
the tiny fish hooks sliced
and pierced
with their
sharpened razor points
I have never heard my voice
still I must dig
grasping into
my unprotected soul
wrenching out my
heart
for all to see
tearing open my
eyes
so I must look
at the person I do not know.
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