The exuberant clay fork turns
Our broken sun picking off history
We measured indifference, we fake this
Plain, a woman sealed in a metal tube
Exploded politely and rendered a blinking dot, skyward
An old tendril, snakes through two decades and carries
Electric love, and patience
The loss of youth’s shame, it’s fermented hopelessness
A banal mortal subjugation, splayed fingers is defense
Sad face in electric pin-points, insincere
I’m begging for more time.
She had to warn him.Â Turn back.
Plum-bruises and strawberry-wounds roughed her clean sight all fuzzy-wuzzy, blackberry scabs seal her voice.Â But wavy silverÂ walls,Â bare points of electric bulbsÂ and regular, measured pine plank ribs, they talk: drug-clotted clues say you’re in a shed.Â Factory ropes, retail spider-webs, hooks and weak muscles, she is pinned to a gurney , a caught butterfly specimen.Â She is tagged for freight.Â She is neutered slurry-eyed incomprehension.
They announced themselves as doctors, making grand, sweeping movements with their arms. And they get to work.
Text and Images Â© Andrew Auten – All Rights Reserved