Eating the Wound

    by Stephen Mead

You will get no bigger

As I swallow you down.

At the core shall be light.

I will own it as an opus,

Corrosive rust in my veins.

The torment of this strange reign

Has been ulcerous enough,

A salt mine raw

Laid bare to the bone.

I will accept the jets of harm there,

Those pylons, a cacophony’s hiss,

Until healing will nourish the new

Music welling.  Wait.  Digest.

Stomach the past that can not

Be changed by the spleen

Or the liver.  Later an enlarged heart

Will be wearing my face,

And, at last at peace,

To moments, I graft myself.

© 2010 Stephen Mead

Stephen Mead is a published artist, writer and maker of short collage-films living in NY.  His latest Amazon.com release, Our Book of Common Faith, is an exploration of world cultures/religions in hopes of finding what bonds humanity as opposed to divides.