Friday, 5 July 2013

Her Body Was a Map and an Axe

I told you my body was a map and an axe and that if you followed the paths, scrabbled into the woods, if you found the hollow beneath the boughs of the old oak, if you got down on your precious filthy knees and took your hands to the soil, if you bent over double and buried your arms to the elbows, if you dug, if you found the chest, if you pulled it out and unpacked the papers, then you would find something, I told you.
I told you.
But it was raining.
But the paths were worn down in the soil.
But you had just washed those jeans.
But you don't believe in pirates.
You don't believe in buried miracles.
You have never, ever, staked your life on a promised bag of shiny gold coins.

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