much – He limps now, cataracts, a pockmarked
complexion that smacks of lupus, though He
would never admit - and belligerent
He held His hand over my hair, He said
girl/go now/affect your dying stance
go writhing/go of breastpile rising
go/suck stomach sinews into braids
go rope the hangings/ throw your throat/i
hammer you/i spine scale with my steel.
He limps now, though still drapes the citrine silks
and wears the scent of orchid at His wrists.
He set before me ripened fruits to slice
He asked the knife for slits it would not give.