MUSE
Log shards under
maul's blow
(I feel the edge
split my skull,)
until rhythm and steel and
sharp tang of riven oak
(gnaw occiput, cleave atlas,
banish pelvis until)
conspire to breathe a man
out against dumb matter
(I fly symmetric, one half
landing in the fire,)
and set him hacking self
from what will warm, will name
(the other seasoned to
word, line, breath, poem.)
him.