These knives drip cerise history
The life blood of past martyrs
Have been absorbed by sandy gravel
Knives crafted to feed our names
To our virgin soil; our earth
Tilling our plots of land into stories
We will create our own sacred ground


4 thoughts on “DRIPPING KNIVES

  1. And having decided the right hand caused hurt
    Is it right to cut it off, and reel away, cerise
    Stumbling, stump-wrapped and promising it will heal?
    Is it right to leave bloodstained trails to the horizon
    And call back that it’s fine over there, no problem?
    Meanwhile my bridges ignite faster than I can build them
    And the way back has been covered by an avalanche
    I stand in a non-cage of mutual decision
    And keening, cradle my cheek
    In your cold palm.

    I will learn to be silent
    And wish you well
    But I will always be here.


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