Lamb skin canteen
new too many days
before I was
and was aware I
filled it with blood
red wine they claimed
sweet like
milk and honey
but blood and frogs and hail
I filled it and
I held it
the skin was soft then
top still off then
and some spilled
til I sutured the neck.
This I said this
canteen this bag this sack
of blood and flakes
of our desert this
I said this is me.
This body now many
minutes days older
it has holes and
my lamb skin it leaks
it drips and I
stitch each time
twice nine soft skin
punctured to heal
pierced to save the
fermented nectar inside
I fear I fight
a losing battle
duct-taping my stitched tears
this lamb skin liquid
it will pour out
wet and cold hail
on my naked toes.
One day I cry
Enough I say I am
done and
I shake the silly
lamb skin canteen
until it flees
its innards over
every wall and it
I we are finished
dead and done.
To be new again
somewhere else
without a stupid
leaking canteen to hold!
