the purpose of sleep

t

I wake up
in the dark
blood of lamb
coagulating
in cast iron
not knowing
the proper technique
I scrape it
with a spoon
into the same nail jar
screwed hanging
from the ceiling
of the old barn
musta been
fifty years ago
long time
for holding a secret
finally washing it away
just one mo(u)rning
in the hot blood
of iamb
after the night’s
ritual burning
of memories
forgotten

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