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and gentleness born
Know what you pluck is your eye what you shred is the drum of your ear and what you snap is skin from bone— Please, let flower be Storms not weathered are appeased and gentleness born
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yellow orb
Can it be? I am afraid of eyes—human— eyes to be exact not the reptilian slit or the glassy, yellow orb buttoned with night or the ruby-eyed rabbit I am afraid of my eyes—yours— when trained upon me demand that I be defined.
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Consumed
Consume it whole like a pill Don’t see, look don’t smell or question. Consume it whole— Let it through your gullet squirm in your stomach break apart in the stream Let it bead in the velvet dark in the red chambers Let it invade you— to know without knowing to sense without sensing
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Dare I name
freed by the trappings of my teeth and tongue rolling crisp kicks and flushed skin I say, apple and sweetness revolts.
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If an answer
If an answer is always ensured and a prayer is a promise kept, Would I then be sure-footed in my blindness and let voice rise? Would I then allow futility to consume no more?
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Waking
Where numinous stirrings vacate and sanity waking pins these sheer sheets into patterns and colour defined that weigh heavy upon the dreaming face.
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Stone
A sharp jab into my heel— I pull off my boot hissing and shake out a grey stone, unassuming, one of many, and yet I look and I look turning it over and over one sharp edge to another and it spoke in face after face of calcified hardness till it wore mine and said,…
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No poetry
If no poetry rises from these lips, from the feathered breeze that drowsily dance between skin and cotton Then know my troubles have momentarily forsaken me and ecstasy is a taste forgotten.
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If I were back on home ground
If I were back on home ground, my mind would go no further than the walls of my bedroom. There are voices that press, squeezing my ribs— I would not speak. not as I have here, across oceans; I would not have sung for you, my breath barely escaping. The irony is what strangles you,…
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What houses you?
your dirt-caked bare feet, your dried lips, formless drapings, and your hair—earth and rain-stained. What houses you? The paths that hold us apart are so few The changing lines are a hair’s breadth apart. Sister, what houses you?! I fear for what I have while your eyes dream in nothing. Oh, sister! How have you lived?! My fear is…
MindWraith 