“Cyst”

The doctor cut a two inch hole
on the steeple of my back.
She draped the site with aftershave
and told me to relax.
I felt her knife like an oil drill
through the numb desert ground.
I smelled the past oozing out
from the grave of twenty one.
Extract the casket and burn the ground
with oil and kerosene lamps.
Take away the vampire in a vial
of blood and rubbing alcohol.
Let this scar be the haunting now,
of this unsettled lump of earth.

narrative poem written on 09-23-2009 by: on mattkane.com
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