“ Don’t turn away from the bandaged place, that’s where
the light enters you.” Rumi
the wound hideous, although just starting
to heal along dark outer edges of ripped skin
there on the side of my brother in law’s leg,
his calf actually, like Buster Keaton’s gaping
mouth, or if I’m honest, really more of a huge
vagina, an open pink cave of layered flaps,
overlapping oysters cut deep into this fleshy orifice,
a labyrinth of lips and torn tongues the eye wants
to enter so bad,
maybe linger inside in awe, yet holds back from for
fear that disgust or another power outside the fence
line of human words will overtake you
and you’ll have to go away,
far, to something smooth safe covered shut,
mute, healthy and normal,
and it better be
damn fast.
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