the cutters.

cut these hands up
like flowers outright
cinched and stolen
flow the garden saw
a pollen heathen
kissed still life here
shine golden head
molten prison shape
love bleeding swift
cull the handed out
a perfect wicked eye
grinning pale time
soak the wounding
burning lip lasting
lakes afire gasp hot
reeds on trial here
slaves of monthly
lapels and cargo
feelers thin twisting
eden evening heat
across division wide
handing cutters down.

(C)2011 Chris Vaughn


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