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Image for the poem Open, Blossom

Open, Blossom

Open, surly blossom
Stir in me the sweet pain of skin crackling,
Writhing once again with submerged life,
Threatening to burst forth,
Overturning my tombstone skin in reckless play,
Tearing the earth asunder.
I do not wish to be thickened,
Tanned and coarse,
But tender and raw,
My new skin against cruel air,
Red, all nerve endings alight
Sloughing off futile death.
Written by hgnichols (Harry Nichols)
Published
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