Archive for May 7, 1991

my imagination has nailed my hands
to the earth and
will not allow me to pass.
the grass
presses into the shape of me
and the earth forgives, crumbles away.
I writhe on my stakes,
arch my back and strain to tear them free
my hands. poor blistered and chafed.
I live.

Untitled Poem #108 and 1/2

Posted: May 7, 1991 in Poetry
Tags: , , ,

I am clear.
the moon, branches crosshatch
her light.
shot, I bleed.
I rot.
waving my arms about
to fling the blood.
I’ve bled.