cutting great neck

blue reeds drifting in the quivering black night
like long wisps of darkness. your bowl of water
has too long washed the blood from your face,
the blood that you were born with
and the blood which tears could never part.
their skin blackens the night,
primates screeching into the oblivion
that cakes the harsh, furrowed cheeks of night.
white boots clasp into the narrow bone of your face,
cold Wyoming winds howl from deep mouth valleys
packing into the empty space where your brain
decomposed. they crucified you
on a wooden fence
with firm brown strings of blood. your father
spoke at the trial,
his voice as cold as theirs
when their tongues lodged into the toilets
in their prison cells. they are reminded
of you
every goddamned daybreak
as the sunlight crunches into their faces
like a metal boot.