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War Wounds

   It has taken until now
   my discernment
   to understand how I didn't really want to
slit your throat
 
   with your unwise heels
   stiletto madness
   takes your lottery curves, my pottering bulgings
out for the count
 
   whilst marry-age dawns
   blooming sons
   and dowry-clowns suck our twenty teats dry
stone-walled excess
 
   credit us with senses
   disarming henchmen
   tell friends in our defence their console's the latest
lion-mauled pride
 
   of love, hurt our children
   in distinct motions
   and distantly children/us/friend disintegrate
dis interest dead
 
   watery dissolved longings
   be crushed, aspirin
   fed with honey, rubbed into our battle-wounds -
our haste pastened.

- Simon Huggins, 6th June 2002