Takes Prisoners

Pain rides me like the last horse.
No quarter given, my thin pulse
no reason to beg limits.
Short, muddy fingers squeeze my neck.
The blood clots and pounds, bones ring out.
There is no sigh between breaths
only groans. Nothing articulates
this deep distress. Why
couldn't I have been born an angel,
minus the body, this foul sack
that interferes with thought.
Pain lends itself to no symbols,
takes prisoners, rejoices in the ways
hurt can be repeated, while
wind broods in the empty trees
that clatter at my window.

^

Biography

I've been publishing poetry for thirty years in such journals as Poetry, Rhino, Fine Madness, & Seattle Review. Also published fiction, and stories and poems for children. I've received awards from Seattle Arts Commission, & Artist Trust & been a Jack Straw Writer. Currently I'm Director of Media and Public Relations at Bastyr University.