it’s like this at the fish market -
standing around
when all I want is
pink glistening salmon flesh -there’s a problem with knives
and by the time I get one
you’ve offered me
your breast to cut -I go for the cheek
incising thin red
around the jaw lineand throw away the knife
shocked by the pain I’ve inflictedhiding the act
from the rest of my life
a problem with knives
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{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
I don’t know why, this sounds like an inner encounter with anima. This is powerful stuff, Ron. Thanks.
hmm, you could be right, the poem’s from a dream