It's got its hooks in again,
cords taut scuffing the window frame.
Whatever it wants it can have,
if it can get it out of me.
Over and repeat the trailing after-images of my body torn through the window
over and repeat the trailing after-images of my body torn through the window
over and repeat the trailing after-images of my body torn through the window like an echo in reverse.
All yours, over and repeat,
if you can get it out of me.
Pull I'll push.
(scraping the rust from the roots and saving it)

Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas