MY PRICES TO PAY

the fool fears no death

i love nothing more than the dirt beneath my feet and the carcass that lays in your stead

maybe long ago i would have screamed at the sight of blood-stained earth

with its enrichment hand-fed by the cool red from my own body

i look down to the corpse that lies with my face, my name that no one can take

without the knowledge of what broken mirrors show-or how devastating dull swords cut

madness turns into rage, rage, into defiance, underneath the tree where i write with singed fingertips and charcoal reminiscences of the bridges i had to burn

speak with a voice that cries the same; in muffled laughter and a shallow grave