Monday, April 16, 2007

rough bit, unfit

Life-burnt hands, white under soil
somewhat yellowed by toil, lay the lines they color the light
Slender scissors, her fingers shuffle and fold
Tipped pearline by nail, earth rimmed and blood
untrimmed and lying lap - slim and perfect
A knot on the longest finger
made out of words,
sweetens the tip in protective elegance
guarding her hand from its sentence.

Pulled back by dancing an arc of veins and grace -
Precessed knuckles constellate above wrists that twist
and throw accusing spirals toward God

I'll stomp, break my trance with a snap.

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