Mindless Focal Jolt in Book Title.

  • Dec. 4, 2017, 9:08 a.m.
  • |
  • Public


I need to write with an urgency exceeding the speed of light cause my head space is a million miles from here in the dark cupboards of a memory of a kitchen I once despised. My head is in a space that no longer exists. Burnt to a crisp. Rubble, ash, indistinguishable from the rest of the remnants. That’s good, too. I hated that house entirely and I especially hated the kitchen. My thoughts creep back on bruised knees. Memory crawls up my spine like an electric whine like the drill weeping. I do not weep.

I drift
Confident, easy
Neither time
Nor trouble
Worry the ship
Captain me
Drunk on a sea
That cradles
At her bosom
I rise
To her sigh

O death
A hungry bed
She tosses some
To sleep

O death
Ugly silhouette
Like a shadow
To the sky

Do not make fool
O bloody pool
You’ve eaten up
Some souls
But let me rest
Awhile yet
My vessel as
Your children do
Flesh to flesh
Listening to
The ripple of
Your pulse

Last updated January 26, 2019

You must be logged in to comment. Please sign in or join Prosebox to leave a comment.