Thursday, November 27, 2008

Second Draft of a Poem

Morning Confession

metal pierces blushing flesh
fingers probe, plunge into the land’s
heart-shaped child, pry into
intimate corners, prod
white fibers and pull forth
beads of flesh

they shatter
between coffee-stained teeth

on the plate a carcass splayed open
bloodless, vacant, defunct

1 comment:

Jessica said...

I was thinking about calling it "Morning Confession, or Pomegranites for Breakfast"