Flayed, alive.

[tun]

With a surgeon’s bluff precision
you cut me with your scalpel,
parting my dermis, as
Moses parts the sea,
revealing the glistening,
hidden creatures,
that flap forlornly,
on the newly naked floor.

We lay upon your wood bound
bed, a gurney, moulded to your needs.
Beneath, an ancient gore
collected, of those that had gone before.
Your wrist I grasped in my
slippered fingers,
and pulled your blade still deeper,
to cut the bad seeds out.

You hung, you drew, you quartered me,
and left me out to dry.
Flensed, flayed, and floundering,
acquiescing to my fate.

Later, we walked to
the hidden market,
atop the distant hill,
I dragged my skin behind
me, soil clinging to its pores.
There, I sold it to the highest
bidder, who waltzed my
hide unshackled, away
to distant shores.

This piece has real intensity. The surgical metaphor begins clinical but quickly expands into ritual and myth, giving it both brutality and grandeur. The shift to the market scene is especially striking: the body becomes commodity, sacrifice becomes transaction. It’s heavy-handed at times, but its grotesque imagery sustains a strong momentum and creates a memorable, visceral vision of violation and exchange.