A Length of Gut

Man sleeping with back to the camera

 

Your hands adore or abandon
my trust, open as the doors
of your house, a sword in the scabbard
of my body. What a length of gut,
bodiless, its red unmanageable life
licking the stylist, the tongue
that drinks the staring hare dry.
The sea-salts scoured me, cortex
and intestine, to receive these remains.
I looked down into the decomposition
of myself, with a mouthful of earth,
worm-sort, root-sort, going
where it is profitable.

 

Source:

Lines borrowed from the following Ted Hughes poems from his collection Lupercal: “Things Present”, “Everyman’s Odyssey”, “Mayday on Holderness”, “Strawberry Hill”, “Fire Eater”, and “A Dream of Horses.”

 


Zach Donisch

is a Creative Writing major in his final semester at DePauw University. In his free time, he enjoys card games, cycling, reading and composing music. He hopes to be accepted into a graduate program next year and continue developing as a writer.

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