Deep Bone Horizon

A poem

A punctured lung journey
horse-drawn, hanged, and quartered
by deep bone horizon.

I’ve been to the desert for love.
And it took me too long
to see it was barren.

I was a fool then.

Contorted and strewn,
pulling shoulders from the socket,
fat drips crackling
into expectant embers.

Scavenging needles
from trees and junkies
and hospitals
and porcupines.

I’ve been to the desert for solace
and found myself alone.
And there were no gazing pools
to prove I wasn’t.

Twice stepped in the same river
the axis of violent need
pulling in one direction
rib by rib.

-A. Sanyshyn

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