Tim Frank

No Apologies

There’s the sublime comedown 
of easing
into a bath 
of soft warm blood.
The seeping gore 
is yours for once.
Your immolation is the closest thing 
to an apology 
but you’ll leave no note of remorse.
You’ve read all the books
but still, you can’t explain why
you need libraries 
of bodies 
quietly etched in chalk.
Alone 
you’ve done your best 
to put a dent in the crowd 
but it’s just so vast
and the living are persistent—
teeming like hair lice in city schools.
You’re no idealist
bent upon a mission,
but working with blood
has certainly provided 
a purpose.
But now, you’re ready to plunge 
six feet deep 
into a rabbit hole
full of flesh.
You’re ready to vanish 
like a whisper 
from a hard-won hell.