my guts are knotted
like the tangled skein
as clothos runs
the rusty scissors
to trim
the errant thread
from the tapestry
of fate

i feel her fingers
across
parchment thin skin
to gently fondle
the mass of tumors
filling
every crevice
of this humanshaped sac

deprived of stimuli
wrested
from sleep
to shudder silently
as the wind howls
like the great wolf
padding softly
outside the fire

(un)poetic, available now