Categories > Original > Poetry0 Reviews
"Fluid, running through, miraculous a cold glimpse of the beauty promised by truth"
a cold glimpse of the beauty promised by truth
sacrifice nothing, striding on a stomach wrenched and ready to collapse
puncture my skin
break the momentum of numb weight on my shoulders
back rippling with Atlean sores ripped wild
face contorted with mad laughter stinging my tongue bitter
I see everything,
crouched on the bed I wasted, summer skirted in my thighs
throat raw and rasping, nasally reclaiming my hold on any sense of silence.
I brush my hair, form smooth skin
hot and glistening with the finest hours locked in its bones
structure abandoned to speech- transfigured
let my lips dry bitter and terrible
tongue thick and white with biting vervain, burnt with wormwood
green trailed to taint my failing muscles, strength abandoned to speed
Gleaming- I'll be Pan to march and dance, give my flutes to snakelike gods and waiting ciphers wrapped in my hands and heavy with blood, shit
flooded with the ruin of my recollection
leaving eternally to shed every skin, edge every danger
Eyes flashing- old womb of my soul, swinging gray, teeming with misery
silent at last! edged up against rotting walls, white with the heat of my waiting viscera
drained of everything, reformed, hands twitching with the lost rampage of my only joy,
passion trailed down my cheeks, wrenched as a sacrifice to laughter
terror, empty to the brutality of my lost art,
heavy, I can brush against it in reflection, sifting the ashes for my end again,
And I will rage, glaring with a cold thrill on my tongue
hands obscured, clenched open to bare all wounds, wills, wombs shed and stepped on.
And there is no brilliance to the burning smell, the reek of passion left to my suffering.
So I keep moving.