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Never to Dream of Spiders

Time collapses between the lips of strangers

my days collapse into a hollow tube

soon implodes against now

like an iron wall

my eyes are blocked with rubble

a smear of perspectives

blurring each horizon

in the breathless precision of silence

one word is made.

 

Once the renegade flesh was gone

fall air lay against my face

sharp and blue as a needle

but the rain fell through October

and death lay a condemnation

within my blood.

 

The smell of your neck in August

a fine gold wire bejeweling war

all the rest lies

illusive as a farmhouse

on the other side of a valley

vanishing in the afternoon.

 

Day three day four day ten

the seventh step

a veiled door leading to my golden anniversary

flameproofed free-paper shredded

in the teeth of a pillaging dog

never to dream of spiders

and when they turned the hoses upon me

a burst of light.

Written by
Audre Lorde
1934-1992 / Female / American
Lines·Words
29·153
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