A Poem a Day (97): Figurehead of a bow

Figurehead of a bow

  

I will bleed

between

waking

Until this sodden bed resembles a

                                        floating sea,

Merlot, without the heady

scent.

I shall dine like a queen

             on my bones,

prised free of flesh, 

       picking.

And in my fists I will see the final

stage –

         my re-emergence from

stasis and quiet, 

                   heady in

my mask of a thousand

                                 faces.

I am a figment, chiselled

in a distant memory,

a nod to the ages

already fled, bled and

battered down

to a dusty heel,

Once moulded,

now steeped

in foul

disaffection.

I need The Repeat,

                       the Want and the Scold,

And in this parting I will not lose

shape.

I can recraft myself as I have done before,

a

zillion

times before

you were even

born.

My blood weighs heavy, 

                               bonding

                       to the bed

            like jelly –

an irreverent tomb for the

self.

x

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 9, 2018