...and here,
this organ meets that gland
in gristled grisly meat
in bag of flesh
upon my marble table. Note
the nerves and how they part under
upon my marble table. Note
the nerves and how they part under
the knife. This
tendon fits its notch and twangs
its drybow damage on a vein. These
tendon fits its notch and twangs
its drybow damage on a vein. These
constant rubbings
would scar were there but life
remaining. Many
think the hair
and nails still
grow, but no
it is the flesh which shrinks. Aaahh
my arms and hands are cold. The rusted
stink, the black and clotted
blood; I plunge
them elbow deep
to grasp
the fading heat. The scalpel
slips
forgotten to the floor.
would scar were there but life
remaining. Many
think the hair
and nails still
grow, but no
it is the flesh which shrinks. Aaahh
my arms and hands are cold. The rusted
stink, the black and clotted
blood; I plunge
them elbow deep
to grasp
the fading heat. The scalpel
slips
forgotten to the floor.
Cool, very vivid imagery; I haven't read a poem on this theme before, always good to explore different topics.
ReplyDeletemy kind of poem... i love it
ReplyDeletedark. vivid.
ReplyDeleteI kept thinking of Andy Warhol's Flesh For Frankenstein.. trying to remember the line, 'you don't really know life until you've fucked it in the spleen..' or somesuch.. ;)
oh... amanda hit the nail on the head there. :D
ReplyDeleteOmg, am I dead?
ReplyDeletethis is crawls elegantly through the darkness. many great lines, g
ReplyDelete