Thursday, July 30, 2015
Cecil - Lynn Crosbie
Slow slink black streaked mane
The smell of blood, I can’t resist
Pain enters and racks me I try to hide
When the crack sounds I am almost grateful
I saw this once in the ache of the sun My skin being stripped away
My head severed
Someone dancing slowly with great, bleeding cats
Smiling I liked him?
“He liked people,” someone says
I did not
But it seemed like a game they called me good
Just before I swallowed the jagged sky above the
SAFE line and persisted
Until every screaming star went down.