Sonnet #5

It's a kind of marriage. It's a kind of war where I plant bombs inside of myself. -Anne Sexton, The Addict

Green suckling power of Self, I thee defy

And consecrate my body unto war--

Send soldiers forth till limbs feel made of light.

Come bandits, liars, thieves-- I am light's whore.

Great emptying Spirit, nurse this heathen child

That lust and innocence have wrought in me;

Ride Victory to bone. Suckle the light

Till darkness howls its pious elegy.

The dark's skin, cracked, bleeds light; the light bleeds black;

We run, we run, consuming what we've slain

And watch the ebb of captains turning back.

Now lights of red and purple fade to grey:

Two unmatched armies barter in the night;

I once again in sin succumb to light.