If a mind cannot reconcile Suffering It bleeds through the body already knowing the most it can do is inflict pain a sinner, self flagellation For r e l e a s e Not an ounce of Saint here… It was early morning at the shop Quiet, in the way the city is right before heavy bloodshot eyes open to a stinging new day She was the only one there Jet black hair, ghost white skin - full sleeve A raven’s home I drink the space in like sips of water overlooking a valley Cellophane wrapped around black arms of guest chairs Measured neat separations between objects The air smelled of nothing… Every bit the artist’s hospital She motions toward her station Laid out there Sterile pots of little ink Sealed sterile needle Neat sculpture of petroleum We sit together in a beat of silence Before She took her silver pen and patiently, Painstakingly inked loss There were no tears to cry Just music in my ears- an orchestra welling up and settling into The buzzing of a machine On delicate forearm s k i n Savoring the way physical pain felt It did not need words…to be complete Like I was moving somewhere - Bringing me closer to who I am Without the responsibility of thought. Delicious Intoxicated Destructive Being. The way straightforward m u t i l a t i o n Is crude urgent desperate chaos This was constant Beautifully even… like the beat of a pendulum Waiting to reach Zero The raven served as executioner for the mermaid Then Came Others… Each beautiful stranger tasked with holding vigil for The owl, The carnation, The moon, The sweet pea The three The hopeful Lucky number 7 to date In all the faded ink stains On my skin I remember the graves I dug for my shadow
Layered Fragments, Becoming Whole 