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Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Hamlet’s Dream

Category: Issue 6, Poetry/Lyrics Winners

I spend the morning
Pulling stone arrowheads
From the flesh of my chest
Obsidian and flint
Chipped with bone and leather
Concentric circle fractures
To a razor edge
I don’t mind the pain
The beauty steals my breath
Whistling softly
Through the holes
Freely in and out again
I place the stone points on the ground
In concentric circles
Like chips in obsidian
Or the paper patterns
On the surface
Of a hornet’s nest
A thousand stings
May be ignored
But just one more
And I am screaming

 

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