Sestina of Milk, Nails, and Copper
drink your 5 year old milk,
boy! I know where you live, stop painting your nails
like a girl, boy! Aging copper
tones cut corners in my ink-
stained eyes from the lies you told, melted from the heat
surrounding this empty day. From the dust
the day arises, filling in the gap between the other dust
which is now floating in your milk.
Oh horrid image of powder-milk—in the heat,
No less! An image I would have nailed
To the back of the ink-
Tarnished vapors in your head, loner. It all goes copper
Under the sun’s furious copper—
Melting rays. Ashes to dust
To my pen, once full of ink,
Now wasted. No use cryin, spilled milk
Is the least of your trials. Nail
It to your face and watch it ferment in sun’s heat.
Heat that will kill you. Heat
That will burn you up and melting copper
That I didn’t want anway—like copper nails—
Only in existence to Bind me Rusty or turn me to green dust,
Worthless anyway. Then I wouldn’t have to drink your damn milk
I’d get my own nutrients instead—I’d drink the ink
From my pen. My soul comes out inky,
Spills dark revelations on a page that burns in the heat
Of my gaze, always staring. Then dowsed in milk
To cover the burning sensation of my copper
Nose. Amethyst, the shiny purple—also to dust
It turns. We build jeweled crutches out of nails,
Crutches we use to walk on, or trip over the deadly spikes of bedded nails
Jutting forth its powerful poisonous ink
Staining all that was once good, makes it dusty
And kills me, burns at the stake, the heat,
Too much to bear. Dangling my copper
Jewelry singes my white milky
Skin. Using my nails I scratch me for never drinking enough milk.
Melted ink pours over rich copper
Which turns to dust…I’m done with this last sip of milk.
Copyright © Brooke Wolfe | Year Posted 2007
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