Stories
Stories
in the mesh of nerves
combed aside
for the scalpel.
Stories
in the blades of water
slicing ever downwards
over boulders.
Stories in the stones.
Stories in the blood.
Let’s let
Daddy kiss it better.
Stories
in the mesh of nerves
combed aside
for the scalpel.
Stories
in the blades of water
slicing ever downwards
over boulders.
Stories in the stones.
Stories in the blood.
Let’s let
Daddy kiss it better.
Bad Behavior has blocked 366 access attempts in the last 7 days.
November 13th, 2006 at 7:34 pm
Submitting to the scalpel is like jumping off the ridge in Queenstown with a parapent pilot. If you can trust the expert, you can expect the best results and enjoy the ride. That’s the sharp part of this poem. And the end of the poem gives a soft landing, full of love and healing. It’s amazing how our parents made hurt disappear with a simple kiss.