(Painter: Francisco Goya)
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Pankratea,
her new name hissed,
as she stood up
and breathed it in.
She breathed the world,
eating atoms,
drinking black birds --
touching -- while she
never once aged
and her skin wrapped
itself, around
which had at first
bound itself to
her dry desert,
and they mocked names.
The men from bars,
who do not care
for the black hole,
or their black holes,
or the below
as it bellows
beneath us all-
And we do not
care for trespass
rr where the mind
may wander on
through Old Hinnom.
Pankratea
licked my wounds clean
and hissed strangers
away from me.
They said she died,
diseased from war,
but she stood as
tall as before
and her eyes wept
for me to hold
her, as she slipped,
and her rotting
flesh disappeared.
YOU ARE READING
Incoherent Poetry from the Depths
Horror(The painting in the cover is by painter Nicola Samori) Do y'ever just wish to feel the chills of the ethereal down your spine? Have you wondered what life is like outside your material universe? Did you ever posit the idea, that a good bout of uns...
