NEXUS CREATIVE SPACE
the head is the stain
of blood run from my nose
to the sheet beneath
the neck is the whip
that lashes the back
to shreds of paper that blow
the shoulders are the shelves
that hold the knowledge
the breasts are the bags
for the rocks and the fear
the ribs are the chains
that hold me close
so I can wriggle and writhe
but never escape
the stomach is the site of the struggle
where, with your wolf grin
and your flaming hands
you took me
the hips are the rails
that hold back the crowd
the thighs are the headstones
in the broken graveyard
The knees and the ankles
hinges to the door
the lock you broke open
the feet are the paws
of the rabbit
ripped off for luck
but the stomach
is the site
of the struggle
where,
with your wolf teeth
you split me
you cut me
from my mother
ripped me
free
and I didn’t
breathe
so you wrapped me
in blue plastic
and I died
and you smiled
lifted the lid
and threw me away
