deepundergroundpoetry.com

brazen

..feeling more...
waif than woman these nights, returning to my shore.
Seasonal-held in Cambrian rhythms;
seafoaming at the bite,
rending vocal'd chordata, leaving only
siren screaming, speech stones - more mineral than grey.
becoming

these horses - roaring out of waves, thunder'd beating
and I'm left with a ripple.grey sky
giant eye - she sees nothing and all, save
lost stars in the birthing of galaxies -
spiral: nexus, my lunar plexus.
and the echoes of that same distance -
my elusive sanity, spell'd first {skin}

I outline my body in seaweeds
the salt
will slay the slugs.
I wait for some return.
this mad woman on the shore, Alkan-toned and naked,
bare, emaciated and discovering
twenty five new species of dust.
within nobility of decay & I choose to live, this once,
fungus dressed and nitrogen scrawled to the wind.
tracing spirals in the sand,
tracing vegvisir in the sand,
searching for some compass home
from the beyondside of pain
from this fractured hazy-toned state
where hands pressing through air ripple and breathe.

I look down at my hands, see mad.bark, see fur.
see rough stone, sea glass,
shadows. light. this roaring
non-melody in my underskin river is
leaving me only fang'd survival.
and i continue to wait for the highest tide
for the rush of brine and fog to feel,

and to drown in the event horizon.[i][/i]