Crenellations
Blueprint Breathless footsteps trace a crooked fence. Laughter. Children tightrope stumble and fall and giggle on the ground. But I persist, even after others run and play. Self-possessed precipice arches ache so lean over to whisper – unveiling an open-eyed world of grass and something not splinter underfoot.
Mausoleum In ice I lie buttressed. Your mere proximity flounders foundations, sending ramparts steaming. Sheets of rubble sift through velvet fingers soften brick to sand. Thigh sparks sensation through necrosis to stand upright. Take my hand. Uncover my pebbleskin, my mudblush though I long for entombment.
Besiege Your furnace and anvil unchain part of me. With grates thrown open, flame erupts wrestling silhouettes. I soften but you raise your hand again – link after link. As length shortens your breathing almost bursts the last shackle. But with all this beating nothing happens. In the night and spare thoughts, the chain crawls like ivy, and I’m bound to the floor.
Tempered – but with song’s silken transmemberment, mold shatters, cicada hardens preconcerto – like this even breeze chaps skin. Curiosity piqued my lockbox flung wide upon the world, but I’m empty. Too much taken abstractedly leaves pulpy flesh exposed your story halves and quarters spilling crimson juice you let me spoil on the counter steam gushes but the blade shivers so fuck your fickle heat.
Reconstruction You rigged the setting so when I fell the pressure was enough. No broken skin to show for it, foot catching the carefully laid garrote of friendship. This way our hands associate betrayal with blisters and never want again. The mind pit swallows, it folds, compresses me to dark cold.
Unbroken But splash water bottom, ice shards aura – they cut if I move too fast – tears colder than ice-bricks. I build and stack and plan a staircase, so if I fall again I can just walk out. Even surfaced I create a wall, a tower, above my well. It’s clear as vitreous if any approach I’ll find my tanto – or wakizashi – and do whatever comes
first.
|
Students:
Back to Crafts of Writing: Poetry Section 1
|
