First published on Vocal.media in 2025. A poem in a series I titled Rejected Meditation.
“
It is time to clean
To scrape with fine metal pick the gunk from the only true unknown frontier
From the ridges and valleys of our grisaille landscape
To cut with resolve the fatty tissue from these fine, fresh wounds
We will not let this glowing abscess become our one true source of pain
Pinch hard and squeeze until the puss pops from the mound
If it splatters our face be thankful it is gone
If it splatters our tongue rejoice in the salty taste of a job well done
If it returns turn to the knife
Gather the ones you love, begin the ceremony
And cut
“
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