Where the ether, Where the grave
Where the ether, Where the grave
In an attic, the voodooed lambswool of my childhood, the crawl of hunger through the schisms in Ceylon satinwood. I return to the chessboard of its floor, to the amputee in the closet; to the limbless mannequin of a fox-born elegy that drags its sharkskin, through the gut of my gap-tooth. This is where my arms turn into a diary drunk on apologies This is where I lied, I laid – blood sainted by an…
View On WordPress










