Bloodgems I call it,
these wound, all mine.
Fixing a crown to the head of death
and making it reign. Bowing, these bowing nights,
to the hollow. I dreamed your arms around me. Together we
wake up and warn the living. You call these prophecy,
these hands. I call it suffering. That such soft
young men wilt upon blue tile. That day comes
a day late. I night it. I night the wound until it opens.
Come at this doorway,
let me know your face.
Let me see the wound-god.
How do you clean a tile of blood?
That is my new mystery.
How it remains long after a fullness dies,
or the house closes in.
I carry a body beneath me. It isn’t heavy
when it is made of sound.
Put your head to the ground,
what bodies turn up
to lull us.
Lisa Marie Basile is an editor, writer and poet living in NYC. She is the founding editor-in-chief of Luna Luna Magazine and the author of APOCRYPHAL (Noctuary Press, 2014), as well as a few chapbooks. Her bookNYMPHOLEPSY (co-authored with poet Alyssa Morhardt-Goldstein), will be forthcoming by Inside The Castle. She is working on her first novella, to be released by Clash Books/Clash Media.
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