Soldier in undeclared domestic wars,
she's driving down the roads that branch like veins
and tangled roots, the routes that lead through pain:
a warrior wearing self-inflicted scars.
The map is red on blue, a painted land
as bad as desert, terrible terrain
with horizontal scars for every main
road, highways on her arm and wrist and hand.
Since things inside are broken, out of joint,
she scribes with knives and punctuates with pins
cicatricic sentences on skin,
a fragile fortress that defines a life.
She draws the blade through flesh, feels the point
riding the life-line, white edge of the knife.
Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside
Tuesday, November 20, 2012