Plopped Into Cool Water, My Manus Flattens Against The Stone Below As A Bowl Upturns Like A Dome Above.
plopped into cool water, my manus flattens against the stone below as a bowl upturns like a dome above.
my marble eyes ring with the warning of moonlight, my skin glistens, slick with sage-
i peer at my greenhouse, pads reaching to press the convex glass, curiosity caressing my face-
but comfort follows me beneath the water, serenity tying me back to stone.
then steam clouds the cage; lids close off sight, then sound- suddenly, silenced, i muster one last croak. poetrycommunity
death by comfort // the boiling frog
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she is literally perfect…
my heart lurches into my throat and lodges at the back like a jagged-edge stone. my lungs sprout wings and fly away.
the aching of their absence in my chest is heavy, despite my rib cage housing hollow. my skin jumps and begs to rip free.
i wake, and it is not a dream. my body is running from me, yet my mind will not free itself- it delights in it's cranial prison.
i wake, and your body is still rotting 6 feet under, your heart and lungs and skin and mind no more- but i cannot gift mine.
there’s an echoing in my bones telling me to
leave this place
and not return.
i can’t decide if it’s fear or fire.
my jaw clenches
and my teeth grit
and i can’t seem to stop the rope
from slipping, fraying.
my tether is escaping me
and is it fear or fire?
i need to know
before i decide.
do i leave this place?
this purpose and pay check?
do i slink away like a fox
in the night?
where’s the rope?
hello?
where’s the light?
hello?
can you hear me?
oh, the human condition …..
Sotce
to live without art is to live without breath.
places i vape:
in public bathrooms
in airport corners
under my desk at work
beneath my hoodie
on mountaintops
on backyard chairs;
in my sleep, in my waking, in my dreams. beneath the clouds and the shadows. on the horizon and the stars and my aching soul.
(addiction presents as poetry, just ask bukowski)
Dead Poets Society
-1989
Yena Sharma Purmasir - “When I’m Not There”
I don’t want to be the next Rupi Kaur or Trista Mateer. I want to be the first Lila Kane.
