On One Hand

April 5, 2006


Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 9:58 pm

I have mastered the
words you dare not
but reject with eyes
color of limes and raw
tongue darting
uncooked meat between your teeth

Together we picked clean the
sun-bleached bones of loss and
sprang from littered soil
standing naked triumph
above that waste

We are the snake
the wolf the
patch of thistle
the scrub oak thicket the
tarantula in
the corner of the den

and you are fields that
turn under the piercing
wrench of plough
the crows that scatter
at the distant pop of
a rifle

we do not listen to
those taunts
we do not hear we
lock mouths
fingers we are
perfect in the
shadows of thirst


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