Mnemonic
Waking
clammed to
broken
shell
feeling
the
demon incubating
warm-heavy
on milkless breasts
hallucinating the hiss
twist failing
from the
red glowburn pry
of his
eye drilling
through bloodlit dark;
it's
only mnemonic spasms
the paralytic fetus
preternaturally
roiled
in a gulag ultrasound,
twitchtorn
infantile
shadow,
disfigured in smoke.
No
answers but dreams
no one
home now in the shanty
on the
shellmound
or under
the ashes
where we were burned
for being
for being
almost
real.
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Wildflowers blog 2013
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rights reserved.
