transpose by Erika Hommel

Having traded the $250 a hour whore
to listen to my blood spattered, sputtering
that went at neck breaking pace,

it is now
at a dripping

please pace yourself,

consider the folly

that falters only those who might
dispute it to the death, but in my head,
you do not live and it’s a lucky finding
that it is,
because the music doesn’t die down
till a deep stoic breath is severed and the devil’s
whip is expunged
either that or
the pills kick in;

toss
to a chance
that these woods might heal these bones,
that the patience of silence
small giddy streams will rub in
nothing but slow passive thought,
void less temptations
is a breathless hope
smothered in gauze and covered
with the chocolate earth,
but potted lightly so,
in hope.

Comments

[Shari-Lyn McArthur]

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