Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Numbers 35: In Writing

It will have blood
the red-rust earth
that runs in your veins
It will have blood

Wall yourself in
a world of stone. 
In sky-blocking towers
flee from her face

The waters, the wind
whisper your name.
Behind your fingers
you hear her say

Slayer. Spiller of 
red sea within
the undulating 
hill turns her back.

sticky stench sucks
at your shoes, drips
from branches. The stones
are wet with it.

Iron hisses, trees
stalk. How lightly,
easily, they could drop.
World is weapon.

You have no blood,
a hollow waste.
anemic wraith that
haunts the place be-

tween. Within your 
bones, he lies 
in wait, the one whose 
place you cannot take.

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