The Point

Let the pain bleed
In a silver-red swell of power
Denial; freedom at the slice of a blade
Which cuts to the heart
Of the matter, separating the lies
Of flesh from the purity of spirit.
Old tracks run white through the forest
Of hair; blood tangles and twists
In the painful knot of an unfinished
Apology for everything
I am everything I feel.

Let the love bleed
In a silver-red swell of fury
Decayed; memories crisp to
Dried, flaking fragments
Of life, falling away like the dreams
Of the lost, smiles of the dead.
Metal, dulled with pancake blood, folds
In tissue and is placed aside
Until it is needed,
Wanted,
Hungered for Again.