This is an odd combination of being-struck-by-an-idea-at-midnight thirty-and-having-to-scribble-before-you-go-back-to-bed and saying-the-same-thing-you-read-from-three–other–poets-somewhere-along-the-way. Maybe all poems are like that and I didn’t notice before.
Once more take up the knife,
and slice and stab,
the thing yet lives! Give it a truthfilled jab –
A squeamish business, this, but needful in my mind;
Van Helsing taught how mortal blows are kind
And this desire was dead a thousand days
yet still returns,
was drowned three times but still the fire burns.
Take the last breath, perform the desperate surgery
and kill the traitor heart that beats in me.