Tuesday, July 11, 2006

abundance



partition your extremities. she fights for her spine, which coils around his thumb. like predator. angry for space. you know that I hide in the second hand. the afterbirth spoke of two heads, one mouth open. left there. some women eat their own placentas. museum for such fine decisions. maybe he flinched when she bit his fingernail. how could she. stop herself. you are more like decay than abundance. who wouldn’t want another tongue, designed to taste the sour fire.

2 comments:

Scott Glassman said...

Mackenzie,

I keep reading these and not wanting the period at the end of the last line . . . maybe try it without? good one-- the more specific you get the better, sometimes I want more of the concrete in there . . . maybe try one with no vagueness but all details?

Scott

Cliff said...

I like the period at the end of the last line. There is something about that note of finality that "closes" the box. Without the period, the poem loses a point of anchor - though this may not be a bad thing.