Thank God for coagulation

Wouldn't you know it; the week that I was being held accountable for writing in this thing was the week that I stopped blogging.  Oh my poor accountability partner!

For the sake of forward motion, I will cheat and post a poem that I wrote a few months ago.  At least it's something, right?
(Note to readers: My favorite part of poetry is rhythm; yes, even with irregular meter.  I just picture irregular meter as unusual time signatures, like 7/8 or 5/4.  The best ones.  All that to say, please read it out LOUD.)

Thank God for coagulation

When the skin tears from its sleeve, when the rip is long and deep

The body whitens, puckers in horror,

And the Blood takes its own sweet time seeping out

Darker than a red red rose

By rights it bleeds and bleeds and bleeds

Shocks, laments in crimson tears.

And now it runs its race with zeal

Bursts bandages trying to cotton the shrieks

Don’t smother the sorrow that must be heard

Don’t beat back the Blood that must run down

Don’t say it is not when it clearly is The—

Is it not The End?

But now the red flow thickens

Slows, loses heart, is whisked into peaks.

The Blood brittles.  The wound littles,

And gradually closes its mouth.

The fire is buried in ash, in scab

The scab is vetted and fretted away

And only a long strike of lightning stays

That memory may always remain.

8.14.12