Yesterday and yesterday and yesterday
I spun hard in the dark and feared Raindrops like hammers To my knots Disruption of sticking place. Down pour a drum A drum on the pavement below Each blow a blow to sound My own dying fall. I cast my last thread Silken yeses and muses nine - A cry shall we meet? Before falling into the slumber Of death and death sweet. Then awaken surprise! A swallow's call Deep and raising blues Of the morning rays. Blinking eight-eyed in the sun Belly full of fire- Breathing for the first time Not a wail this time - This time, my opening and moan This time, my blood and shed Not my mother's And the prisms On my web whisper the strands To shaking the remaking Of my body
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Taigé LaurenThe senses are dead. Something about my work goes here. Archives
March 2019
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