"to tell the truth"
This is how it goes; the cherry comes down,
the creek flows red beneath the bitten moon.
Here is the axe. Put your back into it, love.
Your rage is desirable at last, a knobby sack
of demons, drawn up tight, contained for once.
So hew the tree and burn the prickly branches
that were always catching stars. I see
how that repulsed you, that starry, starry net
I swung from here to every crag in sight.
Here’s the plan; cut deep and fast, swing
like a mad man at the end of a noose.
I will gather the spoiled fruit and finger
all the bruises, tongue the ragged splits
of skin. I will always crave the sweet
dark things that fall before the end
© 2009 Dale McLain
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