May 22, 2020 19:28
In us, the status
In this, the stasis-
the blithely unblemished birthmarks
that conduct rituals in our blind spots,
that weave their mourning hegemony
(their morning testimony
of our sorcery,
of our dereliction,
of our charming fallacies)
into heraldic necklaces-
each bead sewn onto fledgling, puffy breaths
that coil around our tongues
like lovers we never intended to bed,
or lies we never intended to birth,
and that similarly leave us
wooed,
subdued,
alive,
asphyxiated...
that similarly leave us
floundering in the only language we comprehend,
the only language
of non-sounds and all sense:
of hearts beating torrents through communal tributaries
of lungs storytelling what lies at the bottom of the flood chambers
in this
thick dense grave vast crisp insurmountable
void of everything
that blankets us
and tucks its signature into the tiny walls
of our humble bronchioles...
that similarly leave us
ourselves
because they never leave us.
lj idol,
poetry