He thrusts the sword into the air. 

The crowd looks up, 

then tilts forward - 

many breaths become a communal 

one. 

He tastes the blade first – 

one hearty lick – 

it cuts me 

but, to him, it’s just a casual flirtation. 

Then comes the blade’s slow descent. 

The room is silent 

as the body opens for him - 

a corridor of muscle forms, 

a rippling chain of sphincters – 

against their better judgement, 

they cooperate. 

The sword slips past places 

right out of an anatomical textbook, 

gliding toward organs 

unused to company, 

in range of aorta, lungs and heart. 

When he draws it back up, 

inch by shining inch, 

the audience goes crazy. 

I join in the clapping – 

but only because I know 

exactly how close he came 

to catastrophe, 

and how astonishing it is 

that the body, 

when asked politely, 

sometimes says yes.

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John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Shift, Trampoline and Flights. Latest books, “Bittersweet”, “Subject Matters” and “Between Two Fires” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Levitate, White Wall Review and Willow Review.