Friday, June 1, 2018

Ourboros, Domesticated.


Coiled, like a cat in the morning sun
You become the mark on the wooden floor
The circular burn on my skin
Like a bruise from the mouth of the leech.

Why the cat? Why the leech?
The mad bliss of the sun's bleach?
He stalks away for the night
Only to return when the pickings are bright.

Coiled, like a snake in the stalks
You are the guardian of these weeds
And you bite the tail, the tail, the tail,
The mouth. Repeat. 

If death be eternal, so be your stain.
Carved into the earth of my barren plains.
Scourged, scorched, scoured. 
Until the dawn of dusk, to dust, devoured.

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