Something Small

Something Small

something small

faceted, refracting, chucking

hot white splinters to wince the eye

winking from the country of the dead

where no light stumbles except

to be changed changed changed again
in that crystalline splitrail corral

something small

a silicant irritant a tiny mote

gets under the skin encysts

insists itself and carpenters

its own infected radiant bliss

taut ruddy and inflamed the setting

drops the pearl

something small

crawling flat to feed

glossy grey and many legged

inserting its needle nose into the skin

drawing out what makes it fat

to bursting, obscene itching resistant 

to removal except by fire

something small

a point of steel a tiny blade

hard as the trickster’s heart

so thin, so almost invisible at the cut

except for the drip drip drip

of ruby it leaves in its voiding 
wake of words

April 2011

Photo: Bug on Lacebark, by joy ann jones 2010