IN VACUO

I hang suspended

Festooned in a pool of calm

Kicking feeble tendrils

At this gossamer box of warm indifference

With indigenous fear

Darkness in the spathe of the calla

Those distant burning voices

Slipping past the whorls of tiny ears

With fetid silt-like grace

I float diluvial

My hands

fingerless spatulas

My thoughts

Flayed in their meaningless obscurity

Censured and spliced into your own

My feral rage

Fermenting in an asylum of frightening beauty

In the reflection, in the shoal succulence

Lips gently parted as in startled pleasure

Only beheld in the virgin visage

That look, the sigil of desire

Cry of the infant heart

Small heart pounding saliently

Regaled even so in this secret world by the dreams

In millenia, still yet unveiled

Will I never escape your fistulous belly?

This thing you call protection?

This hell?




LaRock

02/90