Rx: My Essence

Run me through
Your hand-held mill
And spill
My drops of blood
With flood of wine;
Fine-grind all
My sea-salt tears
With years of coal
And ash
Then steep with
Mash of tea;
Sweeten it
With granite grit
From mountain’s face
And call it me.

Kat Mortensen@2010

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I’ve been down this road before—
a score of times, in fact.
Which way shall I go?
What is down this path?
Time to make up your mind,
or find yourself a lost little babe in the woods.

I scratch the back of one ankle,
with the top of my other foot.
A mosquito attacks my blank head.
I swat it flat, before it can draw blood.
For the instant, I have important
work to do,or do I distract myself?

Rain begins to fall and my view
is all the more obscure.
I must focus: this time, I need to
choose the right road—
not the road of more allure.

I am paralyzed.

What I need is a monstrous machine
to rip a path straight through
the middle.

I’ve always been
what you might call,
a “fence-sitter”.

I turn, and do a flit.

Kat Mortensen©2012