Guilt that shatters
the skull of megalomaniacs.
Guilt that motivates early morning
extremes, pacts and dubious proposals.
He was paralyzed in the playground,
taking years to say a single
no – A childhood
filled furies and thieves.
A child that carried sharpened pencils
in his pockets.
A child in bed, in a lucid dream
of horrid hands rising from the floor,
tugging his dangling foot, pulling
his hair and leaching
his pores of their juice.
Now he rides beyond the blasphemy
of his youth, beyond his
innocence murdered by a careless
Out of his husk, his form
swims, pursuing a small but majestic
Copyright © 1995 by Allison Grayhurst
Published in “New Mystics” May 2018
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