Thursday, December 2, 2010

Open


she sits him down in a swayed backed chair
reaches for still unyielding vine

and threads it through his torso

elbow across chest into pit, entwining
hands clenched tied back with wire
his desire to waken, unavailable

feet taped screwed to the legs to the floor
jaw stretched open stuffed silent
she tests the connection, push tug tilt
all is holding, secured in union

the restraints do not,
lessen, taut

world on paws, tipping in stasis, axis wrenched
she speaks and pulls flexing, waiting
he is talking, walking, her fingers flutter

he could be anyone.

it isn’t anyone. it is him,
alive with her nearly flipping
the switch on the sun
in the sky wide

6 comments:

  1. David, I think the punnery must run in the family. Impactful prose indeed. Bravo!

    ReplyDelete
  2. She sounds like a serial killer. Am I right? Huh? Am I? Or she's kidnapped him and is sad - torturing him and he likes it.

    ReplyDelete
  3. She sounds like a serial killer. Am I right? Huh? Am I? Or she's kidnapped him and is sad - torturing him and he likes it.

    ReplyDelete