11 August 2010


Mostly is not all

as evidenced forever,

a fate so apropos,

the emptiness to fill.

The runes of blood tattooed

across your skin remind me

there is nothing more frightening than

God damning, nothing more deserved.

You are my cancer--

the eating of my core,

the tendrils inseparably spiraling around my will--

the vegetable spine that wills against desire.

Intimate finger trace

skimmed over heart textures,

relief and ravine of soul

over finite bone stretched.

Take the colors from me,

the hazing demanding verdict,

the deadline long since passed,

the message given clear:

Abuse is not grace.

Release is not grace.

Forget is not grace.
Cost is grace.

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