Unmake

Whose idea was that: You made 
your bed, you lie in it? Isn't it 

rather the bed's unmade in order 
for anyone to lie in it? You reap 

what you sow, you dig your own grave 
and sleep in a field forever. Such 

bitterness, yellow as a plot of tansy 
ragwort, toxic as yew: a single mouthful 

would stop the heart of a horse 
in minutes. Therefore give me back 

the flax before the weave, the seed 
ahead of the furrow, the animal 

need before the yoke, the hairline 
tremor before lightning stroke.





 

In response to Via Negativa: Reader's Remorse.