Human Body as a Blunt Instrument

August 28, 2017

It is possible this will end badly. That I could drag
you down to the seabed between rock & whalestone
& teach you your consequences, your damage, your dead.
That I could split iron like crocus, swallow words
like nails, build walls of mud & mortar to withstand
your pounding. That I might count the seconds of night,
count flash to thunder, might give up ground for low sky,
thick air, might extend a willing neck or tongue.
That I believe words applied correctly can move walls
& reset clocks. That I’ve sealed my own with wax, dug
& pulled rocks like teeth from the earth until my fingers
bled, sowed them in pots & waited & watched until
they sprouted, until a glare cast itself in the stale sky.
I believe anything I wish for can come true if I stand
in a corner and not think of you. I don’t think of you;
I can’t think of a wish.

Ariana D den Bleyker

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