Wednesday

when i go

when i go
underneath
i am a
spoke
like lightning into sky
i cuts it
open with a silver
aching

i am old
but some hills are
worse
i'm vexed
a mess of blood
and pulp yet
still

made clear by the
tiny crocuses and
sheaves
scattered upon my breast
like the refraction
of
light
on water

sudden and insistent
as a day
you send me to the animals
with your kissing

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