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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4480 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention A Wash Paul Lyons I am washed clean: the soil beneath my nails, the clay of my toes, the mud of entrails, the blood become thick and silt choked, the stink and sweat of days spent hard against the earth. And with the wine a name, a fragrant call to arms, drowsy weaving and reweaving, uncollected at last. I am bone and corded tendon and cartilage and clouded eye witness to a body become another man’s, glad to find my fingers can pierce the starless dark to grasp the bread, a name cut of granite unmarred by chip or split unflawed by seam, time marked only in dust. |
