Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Sciatica


is akin to the agony of Death plucking cells in strands and phrases deep inside each tense mass of leg, quads in tandem, cells it seems sewn and struck from their grain like a midsummer perch hooked to fishline, torn from niche and nature through the tense path of the Fisherman's whip.
the sharp coursings dull to pools of agony unstirred by winged things, coagulating like blood on tar under a mishap driveby, Christmas Eve on Diversey, anonymous. collects in crease of hip and thigh, so seated I pound and dig and press into the quick, desperate to disperse the wretched mess unhomed. they ball strike and scatter across the tracks and as along the rails, hop a short stretch to the smooth crescent grain of glute and lumbar. here i am today. hobbled by the writhing snakeball of unhomed death pooling, angry in spasm, limping my walk as one decades of age beyond mine.

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