Tuesday 7 August 2012

Sky is Low

Gather your gods
   hold your palms upturned
                            outstretched
            the steam exhaled from your gut
the sweat pouring down

the knife embedded
right where it fell.
     Shear the sheep,
     bleed the calf,
     notch the wood
to find your way home in the dark.
I promised you I wouldn't leave a mark. 

They won't believe you anyway.

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