Wax Flesh, Vicious Circles

She illustrates the vicious circles in the name of the knowledge of men.

 i hold this shining black stone eye

that sees the past and future here

and i can see that i’ve got bad blood

that stains dark memories on everything

when i’m sad i see medieval

metaphors and punishments in me

under layers of wax and wine-veined tissue

undulating to an angel-alien without a face

her hair, long braids, falls over smooth white shoulders

and pearls around her neck, above her perfect breasts

her womb is unpacked neatly, an eternity gestation

does she mirror what i am or what i ought to be?

smooth-limbed russian dolls of stillbirths

chart growth unfolding from a shapeless knot,

look whole and human, tendons hearts and fingernails

although it’s a metaphor for life which can’t truly translate

they’re cold, hard, solid, and her turgid crawling veins

can never spill their thick dark blood, she’ll never taste

the life go out of her, a stench of salt and warm decay

her body’s still and everlasting as mine can never be

a living death-chamber womb contracting painfully

breasts that swell and leak, flesh shifts and decays

while she lies biddably forever to the glory of Christ

illustrating vicious circles in the name of the knowledge of men.

Author's Note

Any improvements would be very welcome.

Reviews

[Patrick Davies]

I love this. So graphic - a real slap in the face. It stresses struggle - and makes a point that some times, we wish we had never asked for the answers.
An improvement? I think it's art that should be left alone. If you were to read it again in a year, you might wonder if the words could really come from you, then you'd realise that you shouldn't change it.

[Patient Poet (Yos)]

dont change , i like it :)