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Help analyze this poem


He weaves his wife's limbs
With those of her startled lover's.
His sight grows dim as the flowered
Sheets darken. His ears pound with heart's Hooves, the hoots and footstomping
Of drinking mates who swear
They would do the same and worse.
The fat chickens fall. His child
Cocooning in his hammock and his mother Calling out the saints and his own holy name Slow motion into disarray, heaped toys. So, too, The grinning neighbor and his fenceposts. Amazingly, the knife gets lighter,
His limbs take on the grace of wings.
Blood petals into patterns, mapping
His rage up and down the street,
The hacking following the beat
Of her sandals sliding
Against the bamboo floor.
She tiptoes to hold onto him, humming,
Her waistlength hair swishing,
Awash in paper lantern light, caked blood.
He whispered the rhythm then:
"One, two, three, keep time with me,
Mahal." Just as he counts
Under his breath now, chasing after
The fading music, erratic, waltzing
With his fleeing shadow, still
Insisting, as he embraces, carves
The air, that he is in full control.

  • English -

    I know who you are.

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