Hurt Poem by Michael Witkowski

how hurt
transplants itself from nerve
to nerve
spreads like a flush
squahes lemon fizz like in a dash
sires new anti-fathers of strength
gallops from the trunk in my back
to the tree root in my cross
wheezes under pressure of emotional surge
whizzes past brandnew alarm signs
red-lights new images
invokes old hyenas
beseeches leprechauns of the night to stage a mazed play
tricks the conscience
i thought about often
but came to a conclusion:
dream of silvery narcosis in
full awakeness