poetry (again)

to tear open your chest--
this is the beginning,
mere bravery,

--the world is raw in itself
so one might
a little stronger
hold up a bit of viscera

--the leaves also glisten
in the morning.

you will fall into wetness

but a deft soul
         holds itself steady
      and shapes its material
exposes itself
       to the insistent sharpness
         of the nails and fingers
     leaves itself bare,
          and leaves knowing

the denuded ribs entreat