Pebbles,
and the weight they carry,
crashing…crushing
His hands expansive
—a flat terrain exsanguinating under solar
fury
He fills the cracks with parasites
—clinging and feasting upon souls in chaos
He wields a strength unassuming in repose
—a vineling new in green, herculean in might
Rabid beast
—gnashing at the fleshy meat of pain
Cruelly paced in his force,
salivating at knees splitting atop
rock,
his heel pulverizing the spine below
A vice grip
—pressing his victim between atmosphere and
earth
Lower,
and lower
…still…
Swallowed by gaping wounds in a purgatory of
words,
spit like tobacco at bare, beaten feet
A blistered heart,
with a septic pulse,
wired to an impulsive finger on the detonator
Wide eyes always threading wings to the sky
—ledges for finger leverage
The grace in setting and rising,
—the moons and stars of many faces
Belly to gravel,
crawling to a climb
Glass like shrapnel in mandolin strung palms,
and a gutted hull of a sunken navigator
—tetanus rich barbs tugging at flesh
…arise…
adorned in thorns and prepared for war
Standing on two firm feet
—sky grit and searing plumes born of blades
Carrying in flesh the ash of a pyre,
and the words heard upon rising,
"Out of the Wreck I Rise, Every
Time"
E.A. O'Connell
I owe two of my cousins great thanks for the inspiration of this work. Having been through some tough times and feeling I couldn't be forced any lower to the ground, I thought of my one cousin and something he said about the devil and how he likes to tear you down...and then when I began to feel that perhaps I should just allow myself to lie like wreckage, my other cousin made a post on FB regarding the final line of this work and it reminded me of my strength and I did just as it said, I rose, and I will rise every time...all my love to these wonderful men.
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