Contemplations Before Seppuku

looking at the moonlight
through the fog,
looking at nothing, naught
but my own pupils

not trusting a glance
towards the coral blushing blooms
carving riptides in the murk
as rosy as my face had been kept
by my capillaries before this
beheading, this big self-murder

looking at my own skin-zipped skull
eyes open enlightenment wide
jaw slacked, that of constrictors
the coagulated mess on this blade
carrying my name came from my own
waterways and tributaries

lay down with a dog
you will get up with fleas,
I cleaved my thoughts from
these kafka-segment armored shoulders

because the fleas were in my skull,
because a warrior is never let be
by the dead she sent away