Coathroat, Coatlicue

if this is my cue to resist, I will take it –
I emerge from bluest of said ice,
most textured of transparent –
and less out of pressure than want
the figure that I have resolved
to lay waste to takes shreds
and lost specks of life in you.
so that sombre in staring down knees,
the pulse of impatient that breathes
is also the measure I see I must
fit down to absolute size, absolve
from some punishment leading to
certain yet unjust reward.
as mother of sunburst and war
breeds comfort from holding down
awe to effective/disastrous result:
tumultuous, ending.
and drinking of pouring off palms
this liquid takes tangible form;
a fountain is left to provide for.
the origin turns on its source
delivers intentional harm and
what’s worse: supports it.
through punch and lick,
device and trick play scathing
wage, inflict of anything worth
having. until in swollen tongue
it speaks; the honour of this art
forbids all possible manner of slur,
the impediment means we prefer
to be silent. as from forced growth
we learn to cut throats; then
feel we deserve to repent.


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