write when you know

until you know you are
blind
eyes white and wide
soapy and mudless

you’re the dead man
wrapped in grave
clothes

three days in

your ears are stopped
plugged with wax
tamped deeper to the drum
with every syllable ever spoken

until you know you are
stripped
exposed and thrown
to the elements

your veins are let
your thoughts are drub
tongue tied and
tin

your flesh is cold
the pain seeps through
follicles, steeps and stains
the bone

until you know
you are nothing

© 2010 andrew kooman

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