this abuse has the flesh of a sugarcane stalk
staccato of a spine riven with no notice or
you see, I am told that each battery
possesses its own structure. the recipient tongue
must protract for translation.
it is not much different than eagerly leaning
into a pelting. or putting
your ear to a stone floor.
this our diet of
sugar crow. this our
lung in the
astral pasture of
it was not doom.
it was not unwelcome.
it was as though a mantic atlas held
and the kingdom of
injury belonged to us both.
the fantasy –I guess- is to imagine
that it is without melody. can you
not hear it?
every time it swings, I swear
i have not yet left you
Image Credit: Ash by Bryan Nash Gill