Break the bones on every finger to point to the sky, & now what? / Nothing has really changed. / It’s still the sky, it’s still your finger, & you’re still dead. / Outside the world keeps its steady pace. / There is no choir, no fanfare, only silence where your voice used to be. / Someone is taking you down to a basement where they will weigh out your sins, / someone is mapping your body just like a lover would. / They undressed you before you came here; your saint lies forgotten somewhere in your grandmother’s house, / he will tell everyone to wait for you upstate. / The surgeon makes a note of every scar you’ve grown up with, everything you could’ve ever written about that stays inside your wire-shut mouth. / No use explaining old hurts, / now. White-eyed prince, winter boy– / you’d run hot with shame if you could. / Opening up the chest cavity reveals nothing but a worn-out mass / of muscle you used to call your heart, / under it is a lump the size of a walnut you kept your grief in. / Some things you love once & spend the rest of your life pouring salt in the wound. / Some things you love once & spend the rest of your life scrubbing blood stains off the floor. / Forget about poetry, the last thing your body will write / is a coroner’s report.
"Some things you love once & spend the rest of your life pouring salt in the wound. / Some things you love once & spend the rest of your life scrubbing blood stains off the floor."
I have no idea how you do it, but you've found a way to describe experiences I don't even realize I've had before.
“Some things you love once and spend the rest of your life pouring salt in the wound” 💔💔💔 been down about writing lately. Reading this came at an unexpectedly serendipitous moment. You’re very skilled Dante.
"Some things you love once & spend the rest of your life pouring salt in the wound. / Some things you love once & spend the rest of your life scrubbing blood stains off the floor."
I have no idea how you do it, but you've found a way to describe experiences I don't even realize I've had before.
Wow.
"Forget about poetry, the last thing your body will write / is a coroner’s report." wowwwww. that was beautiful
“Some things you love once and spend the rest of your life pouring salt in the wound” 💔💔💔 been down about writing lately. Reading this came at an unexpectedly serendipitous moment. You’re very skilled Dante.