Merciel

The day has only begun
the defeat began long ago.
Every blessing is a veil masking a curse.
Beneath each curse is another hook
to shoot into another ligament,
another joint. Have you opened an eye?
Another target on the dartboard.

You turn to the sun. You are the plant
leaning in prostrate before him,
pulling at the roots of dead soil
covered in fertilizer. It will not
resuscitate. It will only stink like shit.
Another prescription, merely another layer
to dig your legs out. To sink into.

And when you rise above the dirt
and the shit, when you drag yourself out the hole
unto his feet, you will open both eyes to see
the axe in his hands. You will realize
as his hands rise that all your work simply
saved him some steps in cutting you down.