pomegranate brain

exposed

by a glancing blow from a machete

that scraped hair and scalp away

and an arc of skull

the damage wasnt enough to kill him

the concussion

was suppressed

by endorphins swaddling the pain

though his rage was inflamed

by the broken glass

staring him in the face where he lay

reflecting his wound

I couldnt be anywhere near him

I couldnt quiet him if I tried

I had no intention of quieting him because I want what he wanted                                   

a facetoface with the coward who waylaid him

clipped him

and was somewhere at this moment

bragging of his kill

to someone who would listen

when the dead cant speak and a killer can

circumstances

demand

to be wrectified

I washed his face

padded and wrapped his skull with weave

I searched his eyes for dull spots

listlessness

but found only red ash glare

you cant quell a besieged spirit 

anymore than you can quench a volcano

so I helped

I recognized itd either be a story to tell to end all tellings

or itd never be heard

except hissed through the teeth of a liar 

Twosday, 21  1. 14