A bhudda-man emerged in my dreams. Orange sherbet draped his limbs, His head a mahogany dollop. His fist contained a shard, a glimmer, 5 Simple and sharp as his easy smile That outshone his indigo eyes. I held my palm up, outward, warding Nothing, welcoming nothing, A new-painted moon-palm with five drippy runs. 10 The knife Entered me simply and neatly, Dividing my five into a three and a two. Sudden blood, hot and narcotic, Glistened the fingered rifts of identity- and I, I 15 Bowed to thank him, kiss his head The solemn mahogany Made of my desire for death.
From the collection "The Soft Assault"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.