BLOOD

my chest ripped out

my intestine and bone fall,

my ribs slinking from their regularly swung position

nothing keeps together as my insides collapse,

and pour

my hands redden as i push and prod

push and prod my sludge back together,

but shoving and touching

are useless,

and messy

there is no undoing when you’re ripped out like this

there is no stitch,

no staple, or zipper

to re-contain this terminal blood loss

so what can you do?

with blood

and marrow on your hands?

with wound,

and muck, and mess?

for starters, i breath

i breath in the morning air,

and while yes, cold, and startling

my ribs no longer constrain my lungs

so they fill up with the most exuberant morning air

that fit and fill between them

and when i let go

i fill them again

second, i walk

sure, i leave footprints behind me

red, stampy footprints, that advertise my presence

my dirt, heaping presence

but they are behind me

so i don’t look back, even though they are they are messy

they are mine

i continue to walk

once i’ve walked, and i’ve breathed,

i climb

to the highest mountain

at who-knows-where peak

and who-knows-why point

i climb, nothing left inside

to weigh me down

or hold me back,

nothing in my body at risk of losing

it’s already been lost

i climb high, leaving my messy trail

of pennied misery behind me

i can’t stop to clean, or weigh, or worry

I MUST KEEP CLIMBING

MY INSIDES HAVE NOTHING ELSE TURN

NO WHERE ELSE TO GO

I MUST KEEP CLIMBING

hours, days, precipices later

i stand on the summit

and gaze out at the sky before me

the beauty of the horizon echos out below me

and finally, lastly, i see

in my final acknowledgment of all that i’ve lost,

i reach my hands inside my chest

into the amalgam of intestine, and bone,

and blood,

that was so ripped from me before

i take my red hands,

dirty and pure,

and i smack them into the ground of the summit

pressing, and marking,

and staining my place on that mountain

maybe i cry, maybe i’m still

but i wipe my stain all over, leaving NO stone unturned

EVERYONE must know that i’ve been here

EVERYONE MUST KNOW THAT I’VE BEEN HERE

THAT I’VE RIPPED AND OPENED

AND SLIT

I EMPTIED AND POURED

AND WRUNG

AND I AM NOTHING

AND I AM NOTHING

THAT BREATHED THE BREATH OF MORNING

AND WALKED A WALK OF ROADS UNSEEN

AND CLIMBED A CLIMB OF DAYS ON END

AND I AM HERE

AND I AM HERE AND MY BLOOD WILL REMAIN HERE

MY BLOOD WILL REMAIN HERE AND I WILL REMAIN

I WILL REMAIN, WHOLE

AND OPEN

AND EMPTY

AND BURNING

AND ALIVE

SO MUCH ALIVE

I AM SO MUCH ALIVE