Lynched, by Kelly Grieve

How do you like it
hands all over you
strung up by the hamstrings
feeling the pull
of the metal hook on your muscle
once originated
now inserted
You began as
a deuterostome
a mouth ass
wrenching your head
to stretch the scalenes
so close to snapping
and bend too far
challenging the body to break
breathe intently
passing the measured stream
of fire over the tongue
to a steady hand torch
guiding the burn
caramalizing the surface
sweet torture
Can’t it just be enough
the way it is
Is infiltration really necessary
Fanning the flames
through my orbitals
les oreilles
Pressing the plantaris so hard
the arch collapses
ground yourself down
so deep you sink
sponging your way
into the soil
shooting roots
from your digits
begging them take hold
We are the same
our tendons can only
hyperextend so far before torn
How does it feel to be ripped
and floored
tubes shoved through you
forcing fluids
and doctrine
over your bathing brain
fogging the lens
with dragon’s breath
the musk of mildewed swamp
hanging on
pricking with delicate daggers of judgment
just barely drawing blood
contusions in your wake
the sick smile
while you gouge a finger
back into the skin
you’ve already stuck
too hard before
Life will show you
hammering at those hematomas
the cruelty of your cultivation
sticking you in place
tethering your fantasy
to a realistic demographic
just for the numbers
I wonder
Do you really think the threadcount
is perceptible
most people can’t taste
the arsenic in the apple seed
the bleach in their tea
can you
blunted palate
or are you too drunk with power
to know you’ve crossed your own threshold
broken your own law
Galea aponeurosis
don’t become like them
acknowledge the limitation
confess your surrender to vanity
house oversight
brought the trojan horse
too big for your britches
Swollen calves
milk bursting
the matador’s erection
not your first rodeo

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