The sternum vice
clamps down tight
twisting hard the insides
releasing the blood from the stone
grey eyes. Grinding bone to powder,
the dust of end-life bellows
in gusts and dying embers.
Fit the wrench around the valve
and turn until it spurts.
She's fragile like a flower in a vase,
brittle as it wilts.
She's shriveled and it hurts.
The drying out of a body and mind
like a single rain drop from a blackened sky
points to the end of one eternity.
In the centre of the chalk outline
outlining a star can conjure the voice of another. A ghastly representative
of the fifth. The between.
A dark cloud on either side, above and below framing the twisted opening between pillars of standing time,
hour glass sand suspended and pinched.
Conversing in tongues as space folds over for messages in static envelopes to pass through the viscous flowing ether ever closer to all sides other;
finally get the love and goodbye that's been missing from the beginning
YOU ARE READING
Confusion in Underground Clouds
PoetryThis is a collection of assorted poems, detailing one consciousness extending and swirling into another, and another, and another.
