They are binding my hands
Thick cords of leather
And my feet
Around the binding is another rope, thrice-wound and strong, between my hands extended
And lashed to the harness of an ass
My feet as well
They yell curtly and the animals trot each forward
Each their end to me
Dragged through the dirt as the lines goes taut, one before the other
And then I am suspended
And my spine is separating
And the cord is cutting my wrists to the bone
And my stomach tears
And my intestines are in the dirt
And the ass does not stop, pale coils dragging behind
Passing them, my murderers, I see their faces
Mine each one
And the ass too I see is myself, pulling with all the strength of my body
And there are no bindings, I grip the rope my fingers clenched
For no man may be torn to pieces such that he himself is not party
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Umph. Powerful.
ReplyDelete