The eggs I haven’t the heart to crack
Lie dusty under my childhood bed
Where neglect was beautiful
In recent beds
Death curls at my sleeping feet
The imaginary friend
I forgot to love
Forced-feedings of sweaty traumas
He refuses to digest
But coughs up like hairballs-
Lumps of coal as dense as holes.
I forgot He loved me
As Baba Yaga loved the stars
She reeled in for dinner
I forgot because of Pulse
Because of the girl they found
At the bottom of my road
I mistook Him for drones
And gas leaks
And television static
I forgot dawn, I’m sorry Death-
I forgot your sunshine tenderness
A breath against my ear
As I nudged an eyeless badger stiff from the road,
Stood in a mountaintop plague of flying ants
And wetted my hands
To carry a toad’s sopping chill
From a palace ruins
There’s always a fat golden centre
A nucleus of warmth that almost is-
The sweating hands in mittens knitted
With trigger fingers.
The yolks
Unformed chicks slick with newness
I should have fed these to Death,
Spirits curled yellow and malted
Fried up for breakfast
(To show I knew there were maggots in his bedsheets too,
Mushrooms and dried blood and bone)
I should have cracked them against his fleshless chest
Like kisses against His intangibility
And let their stringy spill slip
Heavy into His swirls of absence
Splitting and merging
He could cradle them
And whisper welcome home.
Wow. Powerful and lyrical. A hard balance.
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Wow thank you so much! (o:
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🙂
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Love it!
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Thank you! I’m so glad (o:
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Are you for real?
Awesome poetry
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wow thank you! XD
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