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Arborum Sanguine
by Jean Nolte
soft juices ooze into crevices of bark -
thick blood soaking into layers of pulp-filled skin
like wine into bread, with lethal potency.
one drop of hemlock in a cup of blood,
drunk slowly,
sends memories seeping deep down
into an abscess of unfulfilled intention.
scents of ice and winter smoke mingle
with the breath of crushed cherry flowers,
tenatively brushing the open wound at the point of saturation.
slender, jagged-tipped fingers stretch into a steel-gray sky
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scratching, clawing through cold metallic wisps,
elusive as the life now spilled over the frozen ground,
gathering into congealed pools of forgetfulness,
leaving one to wonder in stolen moments
over the etymological connection
between Lethe and lethal.
still, sweet pools reflect quiet, immovable shards of sky,
and an image - faithfully scried -
of a fallen, misshapen form:
a passageway, from Corpus Sancti to desecration.
About
the Poet:
Jean
Nolte is living in Wilmington, North Carolina at the
moment and that I can be contacted at jelliebean17@hotmail.com.
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