Paradox No. 4

 
See how she empties
the vase, eats
the browned edges
of the festered
bindweed flowers.
This is her sacred disease,
this cyst on the eye of her soul,
this silence, an edible
stillness pushing her
toward a state of suffocation.
She is seized. Taken.
Overcome. All is still.
She takes these shards
and this water into her hands.
See the wound that falls
between the curve
of her hips. The browned edges
come up to bite her.
She sits locked. Petals fall.
Take these shards and this water,
these perfumed remains.
Break skin. Purify.

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