I imagine you walking along the edge of the shadows, using “Q-tips” to remove the skeleton-layered truths about your ears, sticking a finger down your throat to expel your blame-filled stomach, even warming yourself up with your own tears because you’ve tired of fire. I imagine you then closing your eyes so that you lose your shadow, wishing for your horns, your barbed tongue, your hooves to ripen and decay. Perhaps you pluck out your eyes when they don’t. Perhaps you’ll sew up your mouth and penis just so you can refrain from making fog. You’ll even burn your hands to ash. But you’ll still hear of your elephant-like touch, of your snaky tongue banging eardrums, of the imprint left behind by your fingerless fingerprints. And your eyes will sweat enough to remake the Flood. And then your knees might kiss the ground and you might pray to the prayer-answerer to be the next lamb slaughtered.
(This piece was published by The Bookends Review here. Send your work there if you’re interested in publishing.)
Benjamin Grossman 
Wow!
Powerful and mind griping!
Oh. Thanks so much.
Well done! 🙂
Thank you 🙂
Wowzers! Would love to know the process behind this one…. but then, I’ve been told I’m too curious. 😸🙈🙉🙊
A prose poem phase I was in. Where I was trying to take one word or idea and show the history of it. But this one followed a bit of different path. Curiosity has its benefits.
I come to this date seeking some kind of sign… and wow, wow, wow… this writing, in this moment I understand it now… divine.
p.s. but please, don’t take on the sins of all mankind!!
Thanks. It’s always good when we feel we get signs.