Butcher Son

A thick sea curdles as,
from within
the steel,
a bladed sea of calls
and lifts,
across mud,
up walls,
to the curtained ear.

His white coat spattered
with blood dawn tears.

A flinching twist,
the waking kiss of conscience sifts
thoughts through a cratered skull.

He pulls the blankets closer still.

Startled birds scream;
gristled cogs spin
morning through the yard.

IOB 2013



About Ian O'Brien

I am a teacher and scribbler, living in Manchester, UK.
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1 Response to Butcher Son

  1. Suzy says:

    Love the imagery!

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