Stain

There is no clean. No bomb blast

big enough to burn this grit away.

*

The tongue licks decay

off the sharp teeth. Teeth clacks

to draw the willing blood.

*

It will cease to matter only when I am dead.

*

When the wind blows

it takes my life away. The trees

thrash, and my bones give

such a bloody beating.

*

My body clutches itself, withdraws

into itself, the child

rocks back and forth.

*

The tightening sensation pushes white

knuckles into the angry solar plexus.

The gulping, greedy throat tired of talking,

wants only to bite and tear, surrender.

*

There is no clean

that will forgive this body.

*

This body that kicks dirt into its

own mouth. That laughs with black teeth

into the gaping maw of its desire

and the thousand small ways

it feels pleasure.

*

It spits down and into whatever Eden

might still be there. Poisons

the well so not even the smallest,

basest animal finds succor.

*

No respite for anything

that may come after.