29 April 2012


What trouble this body
poor vessel for my soul,
and tawdry, wet
with dirt and sweat
and more, secrets
from the deep, moored
in corpuscular rafts
swirling in circles,
held in by skin
a tangible thing,
and common: mere
cells, bones, teeth
grafted into some
present-day urn.

And when the vessel
cracked--a gasp
of blue turned red,
surrendered to earth.

Prompt=line from another poem. Peace...

1 comment:

  1. you create a beautiful image here, I love the metaphor of the body as a vessel, really striking and inetersting


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