EMERY BAG
Pins on me, like nails hammered un-sketched on farm
beds. A while, you stay here. At times rusty and bended,
sharp points prick like biting teeth. Sand in me clean you
up, sharp and gleaming. And, then you go – as soon as
time will mend again. I wait for your return in a box with
threads that sew clothes, skin, and limbs. I lay steadfast
and waiting, under tables – everywhere you would desire.
How long would I wait? If the cloth that holds me tears
out; my own would be ripped. Nerve sensors dead, and
until the pins prick, vein and blood breathe. From the
Pacific and Atlantic; of the whole earth spewing rubies,
return me to the seas where I rest. Bathe me again, clean
in God’s rain, like a full red heart beating aglow. Then
keep me again for a the next blade, spear or cut on my ass.
/ rosevoc2.9292012
on writeme
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