Rather than grab

Rather than grab
your hand
and let you lead the way
I would
bend and fend and wend and ...

never look back but for the need of salt
to pour on my wounds -- stuck in a circle, digging it down.

Poison in the betweens, those horrid and boring and giddy
things that clog the fist-filled gaps, blood leaping off smiles:

Mirror stares cookie-cut with emotion

curled up at the sides and open to interpretation

beached carcasses turning back into fleas and scurrying away.

This tunnel we are climbing
does not give way; keep clawing and clawing
whether the sun is shining or life is winking
out.