The Fists' Curlicue
a bach remedy of violence
distilled energy of the human psyche.
the brutal unromantic side
of the condition of the empty soul.
there are no glad hands here
only the curlicue of fists
the bright sharp edge of the thrusted knife
that almost passes unnoticed until you recognise
that your life is seeping as the blood rushes, frantic as
prayer.and your hard on is real.
in the face of all this
you are dying piecemeal of
an alert amnesia
while time concertinas.
