No black and white photograph
Just two of earth’s own.
Score pacts through red clay
Fingertip wavy ink trails
Gathering the prey.
Blood’s sudden distance
In the need for possession
Your disgust haunts me.
Leaves an absence of colour
Still unfastened day.
Fish, bird, skin held taut
Language, tribe, vast stretch of land
Between you and I.
Cooked and relaxed
Film a star. A world, aching with stars.
Our head sound, sound and weight.
Echo of flush, flushed, pulled and aching, an ache of blood. Pulled and
Aching let it let. Let it ache. Bloody flush of red, an ache, a spasm, a pain.
Pierced red. A menstrual ache, a shock
In the centre, a piece of ache, a centre piece, carved. Blood flow on the board.
Wooden board stained pink. Blame the lift and flow, the centre hold, the glut of grow and show. The tender on the cloth with love. The afterglow. The wood would savour, borrow, sow, the blood and the flow. The wooden savour, the saviour, savoir, the red most tenderness, the melt and die.
The die and melt of red, the red melt, the lie, the red, the saviour and the savour, and the stain, the red and feel the ache and pain.
I witnessed a birth of words
as he read aloud
deep bloody wounds
gaping and closing
mouth like womb
lost in that moment
meaning was numb
drowned drum of hypnotic sound
heavy and urgent the words poured
shattered and proud
I yearned to cradle them in my own mouth.
a poem I wrote last year and decided to rewrite