That symbiotic relationship one attains
when Kali breaks out her claws
and crack the chest
like a walnut.
She scoops out the insides
the treasure-
still beating with that fierce determination
and will to go on.
She injects the hypodermic needle
sweet as pine
laced with sap
directly into the ass
compelling it to buck,
like the greenback
that kicks holes
in doors,
in opportunities,
until it finds
what lies beneath floorboards.
Dressed in shag carpeting,
she’s ready to tango
in a neon colored disco
with its mirrored balls
placed within the delicate hands
of a vice
that squeezes the potential
school of children
swimming within its depths.
Kali sighs with relief,
content that the beating abated
into a gentle rhythm
of slaps,
like the clop-clop of a horse
drawn to its carriage
like a moth to the flame
or pigs on shit.
Even as she draws
breath,
lines in the sand,
conclusions-
fingers trace
the purple and blue lines under flesh;
a road map whose crooks and crannies
travel the bridges that connect
hook,
line,
and sinker
through that pulsing appendage
that she ultimately rips out
like the husk from corn.
I feed it with worry,
I feed it with my discontentment,
I feed it with my purpose,
and it gives me
drive.
Copyright © 2014 J. V. Stanley
