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#1

My Father's Muse

Words Actually

Apr 12, 2015

821

1 Min Read

x

My father was a tinker

He had a sort of fervor

Diving into garbage cans and coming up

With treasure

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He had a wobbly woodshed

With shelves of sparkly subjects

Tin, copper, thingamajigs, he

Loved all his whatchamacallits

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One day he took a sharpie,

Called me into his factory

‘Now, now, my refractory child

Stay very still, be quiet

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Don’t move, please!’

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He took a scalpel to my skin

And slid cold metal in

He wound me up and watched me walk

Around the garden green

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Oh, how heavy my back grew

My clothes no longer fit!

And for the fear of rusting

I became a greasy thing

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One day he bade me kneel

He took my brains away

Between my shoulder blades he placed

A roll of yarn, in grey

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He took the bones from my hands

And sharpened them to points

Your body is a treasure chest, he said

Take just what you need

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Sinew, guts and veins for thread

Fabric with a raw edge

Blood is hem repair glue

You are a brand new you

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‘There,’ he said, ‘now you my dear

Are well-equipped for life

You’ll find when people cut you up

It will never bring you strife.’

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Table of Contents

#1 My Father's Muse

#3 Love Hurts, and So Does the Way You Look Tonight

#4 Notes From the Void

#5 The Fault in These Lines (Final Issue)