The Recalcitrance of the Philistine Child

it’s quite hard to put everything together:

the land is vast, wide

and full of imagesmore stones

more ripples on the water

dark with the coming cold

one stone is stacked upon another

one current overcomes what was it was before

washing away the collected silt

a great heaving gasp

at what speed does the soul leave the body

and where exactly are the nets

lying in wait

to keep you within it all

someone had died, or was dying,

and I stepped in his blood

cherry red and unreal

because I did not want to see it

the mark of violence’s errant kiss

a hard nail through the wrists

the train was screaming in its cave

and I had a choice:

do I look?

and if I look,

will I see?

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