The body hangs like
A stranger haunch and hook version of soul state
There is a man who knows
the veins and arteries,
-even capillaries
designed to carry the carbon and color of punctuated
probabilities
red lines connecting,,,
exposed cartilage to iridescent tendon
but now
drawing pathways down.
All this dancing --
in a white room:
The steel against liquid iron in strings
of steam drawn heavenward
Mixing with the cumulus exhale from lungs still living.
We know the butcher is capable of clutching the blade meant
for marrow and sinew
He also concerns himself with the bitterness of
(the sound of)
blood that belongs below the body.
He knows
to leave the marbling of compassion so it will be consumed
with blood drawn
nearly raw and tender,
or the dense creamy attempts held sacredly within the
splinter-prone skeleton,
is to know where the once supple joined
will gladly give way,
and the characteristics of this body:
The difference between
places where pain resides and
the pieces of my heart.
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