take
this
two pounds
be gentle
if you close your hand
you will mash it into pieces
squash
lumps
flay out
your fingers
globs drip to the floor
leaving caverns in me gushing
curl
shell
foetal
still beating
you put your foot down
only to find that I am gone
Original idea was to tell the story of an emotional murder from the point of view of the victim. Very Indiana Jones, one rips out the other’s heart, blood and metaphor spew everywhere, Pre-Raphaelite cherubs come to play clapping games in the gore. However it turns out that without a heart (note a nod to the bard in there), our vic gains some perspective. Their problems are as small in the scheme of things as a single person standing on the shore of the ocean. They are the ocean, time and tide wait for no one.
Also a Fibonacci styled poem, with each line having the associated number of syllables – 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8.
Again still working backwards through the Applehouse blog.
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