On Joseph Mills’ "The Slit"
by Lilly Schwartz
like crumpled scrap metal, cracked,
the machine of me is ruined
--Show me your slit--
harsh in my turned ear
pressed to a pavement bed
as he pried me apart,
hands like crowbars—
mean, invading with

that penetration of sharp
twice—my function
and my greatest fear,
then left as garbage
to be picked up
in the early morning rain:
work-hole, slit uncovered
rusting itself shut.
Posted by: Lilly Schwartz

Poetry (February 16th, 2005)