Friday, April 29, 2005


Lord, come to me in the hiss of brakes, lead me
Away from green pastures to oily streets
And bring me dust and grease to smear my face.

Radiant, perfect, compassionate one, grind me
Between the rasps of your hands. Drag me on walks
Scented with urine and blood. Break me slowly,

Deliberately, till my eggshell skin is crushed,
And peel it off, in one long spiralled pull. Lord,
I ask this violence from your hands. Do not love me

Less than that. I embrace you, Lord, I dance with you,
On fields slick with blood. I delight in your face,
The warmth of your body, the perfume of your breath.

Tatter my body, tatter my mind; open holes
Where no holes have been; let the wind of your song
Blow through the opened rents, the opened eyes.

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