Sleeping with Knives

February 25, 2011
A bright idea was just the fix,

A bit of "art" to get my kicks.

Exacto blades and magazines,

pasting landscapes,

splicing teens;

Expressing concepts,

but painting defeat,

I worked in bed

'till up crept sleep.

Sprawled in clippings

with violent dreams,

I thrashed and tore

at intangible scenes.

There I lie,

in sporadic REM

till bleeding I awoke again.

In shades of crimson I found my wrist,

assessing veins barely missed.

"Oops!" I thought, to myself with regret,

wearily pondering the fate I'd almost met.

Quite a cut I'd almost acquired,

the inadvertent cost of being inspired,

But if I spoke, I'd give advice;

I'd tell you not to sleep with knives.


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