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Gone where goings sleep
Oh, sweet retreat! These receding waves and closed doors with all of its paths folded neatly underneath and leaves curling into themselves and the air slaking its moisture cold My toes curl I am enfolded behind drooping eyes wherethe night sky slips its skin over the moon-eye, and iridescent black blankets me in soft blankness
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where hunger
i have lived through unopened windows glass panes where dreams glide mother’s arms that held no cradle and father’s unburdened shoulder and longing that scrapes and gouges these painted walls i have within me a hollow that consumes premature things, things squirming underneath the sheath, punctured too soon; where hunger eats hunger, where i eat…
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a portobello ghoul
The gills frighten me thin skin folds lined with a sliver of darkness that gnaws, draws out a fear so primal— I scrape and shiver and wonder whose eye, whose corpse am I about to eat—is it the horror of looking up the freshly turned ground and see its underside,…
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Time slips
like a black slimy creaturely thing, its tail end barely grasped before it slips into a still pool reflecting stars so sharp, it feels like judgment and when you dare look up they shriek in pin pricks with every roll of your eye, pressing down, bending your back till your head bows in prayer from…
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stars like buttons
to pick stars like buttons from skies to drop them in handfuls into my mouth like rice puffs Counting stars? What ever for? I know where they must go Into my mouth I must swallow them all, white dust grinding between teeth More More I need more
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like trinkets in jars
I spend my days excavating, extricating stars from books, bird beaks, veined leaf, and spider feet I smudge all the ink trappings and set them back, and finally, remember, the wordless wonder that compelled these hands to cup fireflies like trinkets in jars.
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Must I
Must I rise, like the mountain clashing between forces, cresting and imposing—what if it is the sea that pulls me, ebbs and flows with too many peaks for any to be singly crowned? What if I were to simply house multitudes like scales glinting silver, purple, blue creating and recreated
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to fly
As if I have never broken into. I exist merely in shadows and sensations A film, a membrane wrapped around me A hint of a figure or sunlight behind closed eyelids, red and unreachable, and limbs trapped in turbid waters; I shrink away from the cold air, where boundaries unbounded asks of me to fly
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trapped
There are whole parts of me trapped in reality. Bits and pieces that’s been pressed into neat lines, between ruled pages—always what must be, never what could— Each petal of possibility falling each drop of dew caught wasted away
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untitled
You are beautiful. I feel naked I feel nakedthe lid’s been taken off the worms and maggots are out…and so I destroy you
MindWraith 