GEIS

GEIS

GEIS

I bruise my knuckles 
against its smooth white walls. 


Containment is in
the nature of a house, 


but I would sooner 
the berserker’s filthy pelt, 


sooner swallow hot coals
as proof against the blunt 


force of iron, sooner a door
in the two-chambered brain 


to let the dark in still 
and through which the owl 


might issue its summons. 
The wound of the mouth closes. 


To perish its roots 
A radiant stone is placed on the tongue.