Mire/Reverie
It’s a dark cloying feeling, a clasped hand
in wet, sticky darkness feeling, one
that spins itself around you, binds
you with dull gray threads, binds you
so deep into the feeling that you cannot
twist, perceive the dull glimmer from
beneath a doorway, a bulbed-lightscape
just beyond reach, sight; the wet filters
in, clogs the brain with murky squares
of lead, fills the cavity with test-screen
monotone and motivation dies, the clay
seeps in, the skin curdles as blood leaks
out, and your two eyes, blunted moons,
wane with amnesic cloud, pall that drapes
long, low to feed moist loam fingers
Mire/Reverie
It’s a dark cloying feeling, a clasped hand
in wet, sticky darkness feeling, one
that spins itself around you, binds
you with dull gray threads, binds you
so deep into the feeling that you cannot
twist, perceive the dull glimmer from
beneath a doorway, a bulbed-lightscape
just beyond reach, sight; the wet filters
in, clogs the brain with murky squares
of lead, fills the cavity with test-screen
monotone and motivation dies, the clay
seeps in, the skin curdles as blood leaks
out, and your two eyes, blunted moons,
wane with amnesic cloud, pall that drapes
long, low to feed moist loam fingers
Notes:
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