Signs of stigmata

We talk of what cuts deep
what needs keep
and sleep with garlic under
the pillow.

A bit of blood,
sweat’s
also good for
the hounds
that follow.

But the vampire that lives
in all men
remembers when and the
how of a taste.

She moans
but that’s not part of this
so I concentrate
count to three and
wait…
silence,

until
being weak of will
I listen to the sounds within sounds
it’s
like the inner ear goes stereo
on me

and the firing line is just time
taking shots at me when
I’m walking the wires that
cross over the chasms
of catastrophe

failing this,
is falling the new free?
and are we still caged
unwaged
paupers?
when did we become
the new
lepers?

we talk of what cuts deep
when we really should speak
of who keeps us in the dark.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.