Arterial
11-Jan-08
The earth moved the day love was
an unremarkable statistic. Severed arms
held close to the chest were testament
to who God left behind – an unremarkable
statistic in the centre of the crowd.
Blow me up, I have nothing
to show for my life but these lights.
Pull me out, wipe me down, roll my head
on the ground – I have nothing show
but my eyes, which are closed.
We scraped each other off the streets
on a small end of days when the earth
stopped moving. We poured
each other into bags to be named later -
yes, this shoulder was my lover’s, I know
those shoes. Give them back for me to bury;
I have to love someone new.
And the earth moved again. We watched
our lives unfold in a silver screen disaster,
blood, guts, trauma, a red ticker
rushing past like a train of thought to
take us, really take us, far away – where
you cannot blow me up, though I make
hash of my life; or pull me out, wipe me
down, spread my blood on the ground.
I’ve got nothing to show
but your eyes,
which are closed.