The Sword

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The Sword
The old words cry out
as your wounds
pour forth your spirit:
The sword you use to pierce another
must first pass through
your own heart.
Dismas groans in rebuke,
“We murderers, we deserve to die,
but this man is innocent.”
The Most High cries,
“The blood of Abel–your brother, Abel–
cries out to me from the ground.”
The bulls of Bashan
encompass you about,
the bulls, their mouths open.
You see me looking upon you

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D. V. Andrews received his M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Saint Mary's College of California and his B.A. in English Literature from Washington University in St. Louis. He has studied under such notable poets as Michael Palmer, Carl Phillips, Mary Jo Bang, Brenda Hillman, Graham Foust, and Christopher Sindt. His poetry represents writing from the Western tradition with the more recent influences from Randall Jarrell, Robert Lowell, and Frank Bidart. He currently may be found wherever the wind wills he go, you hear the sound, you do not know whence it comes or whither it goes.

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