Blood longs
                 to be courted; pools in turtle ankles; sprints in gull veins pinned
like kites to flicking minnows or stinking sandshark carcasses; a girl
slices her arm to chase a high; her brain stem expands in sharpened fields
till she floats above a cairn of gory clothes, blue hair and bluing skin;
a boy cuts his stepfather's throat and speaks of gold brushing his taste buds;
poison ivy scales a tall dry oak to claw the sky; root-tethered
it spits urushiol at chalk-faced mockingbirds.
                                                                Blood vamps
                                                                                   as shameless
vines ooze down, paw the iron hinges on the oak doors of St. Chad's Shrine.
Somebody from the RSPCA called to ask why the terrorized
rabbits in Storrs Park keep reporting your name and address; they're either
burrow-starved or were chased down by shrews, and once you've seen a young doe meet
that fate, you'll starve; offer the new moon hens or lure chariots toward
its hungry tide; best yet, pull on something wet and red yourself and fly
back to New Jersey.
                             Blood pleads
                                                for reception wherever it courses;
here I stand with an armful of roses and a train of squires heated
and hardened by days on the backs of thunderclap-startled horses.

In S2, the "your" refers to Blood, right?  And Blood is a metaphor for Life -- maybe ?  This is, at any rate, how I'm reading this.  That said, some horrific and terrific imagery in this.  Imagery that's all over the map in a jangled and very, very alive manner. 

Wow, this is fascinating Tom.  You took the title to the limit but didn't wear out.  Great, great bloody great work.

cheryl

Bloody glad you've enjoyed, Cheryl! Tom

That "you" is up for grabs, Lynn. As you say, not a very linear poem. Your thoughts help me see it. Thanks, Tom

moving to Submit

This one feels all over the place.  I got thrown out at one of the turns, but I enjoyed watching it racket onward from my position on the grround.

What a vivid reader's account, Rick! Thank you. I think I know what you mean. Wll give it another good ponder with your point in mind. Tom

Fascinating and - it seems to me - oddly British: cairn, St. Chad's Shrine, the RSPCA, Storrs Park ... It actually reminds me a lot of Maggie's poem, to which I've just responded, in that it's a gorgeous conglomeration of images that don't necessarily (in my eyes, at least) cohere). The language and images here are even more rich and gothic (if that's the word I'm looking for - baroque?), I think.

I still can't decide whether there's sense to be made of this, or we should just sit back and enjoy the ride. It's a great ride.

Cheers

David

This is excruciating and melignant - it made me wince, hence it really engages the senses and would make for good therapy when you are feeling dead, abstract or non-sensuous - same therapeutic properties as self harm - responding to the same need.  I think Plath was developing in this direction; you see intimations of the - I'll call it red writing - in the last few years of her work, but here it is stark naked and very unsettling. I think the image of the girl cutting herself is very powerful in this bloody context - I'm tempted to repeat what I've said before about your writing but I'll just say this is powerful, engaging poetry.

David and Aaron, I'm very glad you looked in and for your reactions. It's good news you enjoyed reading it, and I like how you push back at it, making me more curious myself. Tom

a ball of emotions bouncing from wall to wall

much enjoyed

james

Thank you for the look and your reaction, James. Tom