Brambles

At the end of the night

I expect to be hurt

Not by a fight

Or the flight of a skirt

But the pang of the hooks

Pulling on twine

From some backward look

Long lost in time.

In my organs they bite

Zig-zag snagged line

All caught up tight

In the brambles behind.

My kilter all faltering

Taught lines pitch up short

And I find myself baltering

Between barrels of oughts.

Sideways is pain

And back seems ok

But forward I strain

And hooks rip and flay.

Somewhere, someone has scissors

For a dagger carapaced back

To cut lines so they quiver

And fall shung and slack.

Then maybe, just maybe

Berries I'll find

Following lines over my shoulder

To the brambles of mind.