Wednesday, June 23, 2021

poem

 Needle Biopsy

It takes one needle stick

A couple millimeters

Just to the right

To lash an artery,

Puncture a child’s lung.


So tempting to wander off the path

Toward that forest of surly pines

Hundreds of years imbibing

From a surging river of blood

Leaching into the soil.


Current is too quick to clot.

And all you can do is pack and pack and pack

As much pressure as it takes

To plug an empty space

Flooding like water into the cabin

Of a rapidly sinking yacht.


One match 

Struck

Near a refinery


One prion clinging 

To a cutlet of beef


An uncovered cough,

That elicits a missed glance.


A stone dropped plop

Into a pond from a bridge

Ripples into tsunami


Butterfly effects 

One thing into the next 


The black ice

On the downslope

Of the hill you've

Already rolled down

Laughing

All 

The way.


I can't help but slip.


It’s not a pin prick,

Scarlet proof of life,

That you suck to stanch


It’s an impalement ,

Razor thin sharp

And just as bitter

To taste. 


It won’t clot

Until I press myself

Hard against

Lacerated flesh


And never let you go 


6/23/21

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