I am fourteen again
Disbelief at the dulled mouthknife—
stinking bits of chewed heartflesh in between its teeth.
I am The Overused Blade
built to bully, bludgeon even, the quiet riot of hope to oblivion.
I am The Stench
Dank rank of domesticated swine
(Am I, really? Inherently, am I?)
And fine,
I am The Heartflesh
Thick-vesseled and blue veined
At last, yet beating the blade subordinate.
