Tags
blood ax, conjured claws, groove maker, I still cannot sleep, nape I cannot, poem, Poetry, porno-proud static, shattered ink
It’s not the violence, I tell
you, that draws me in, we’ve
survived worse, it’s
the porno-proud static it’s
the television glow. It’s
the peel unpeeled. Call it
the sense of control. Between
the fox and the wolf I choose
the blood ax, the groove maker,
the conjured claws bared
to the bone. Lonely beasts
have no idea how to ask
to be invited in. I wanted
to knock you to the ground,
sit upon your shoulder
blade, play with your
nape. I cannot
sleep tonight. Foolish
child, the static glows, I
warned you, go shut the door.
