the carrier;
an interior
structure of
support:
ribs holding
our lungs
holding
oxygen;
like bowls holding
sound holding
resonance...
it is no cage at all.
Exhale.
The masses;
of which this
is a part -
its' tightening and
winding, its tentacular
mess... must snap to
breathe; as a dragon
breathes fire - the
matchstick friction.
(a mallet releases timbre,
the hammer that starts it all,
the color-producing tentacle
in a moment of fear or)
We poisoned ourselves
for years on waste and
smoke; becoming
busted, broken,
babbling,
only to
inhale, only
to breathe.
All of it,
a gasping for air
with nowhere
to reach;
swimming without
knowing the feel of
water.
Yet, found atop strange reservoirs,
we float. We float
chock full of stardust, ether,
your words and mine, hair
soft seaweed; limbs smooth brine.
Unleashed
No comments:
Post a Comment