There is a plummeting within me I reckon not unlike tumble **** in a lone, stranded desert
That of violence so long silenced That of anger, and hail storms upon freshly blossomed hyacinths
a smothered baby bird or a tree towed down Repressed, the twigs and shrivelled seedlings cry out and dry gusts hear One upon other lunges
And I, them weeds— them weeds— and more, a deafening brawl
Rolled, as wool, into an orb That laughs an unkept, dimming painting Jumps over rocks this wicked, rotten child, And descends under still
Perhaps— A brick that stumbles out the wall of my skull and down my depths, it begins to explore
The den where an injured bird snores bleeding And ceramic bars that surround Down still—
A churning, twisting furnace Burning all menace to gold And labyrinths beneath Restless as they warp upon themselves— Them groaning snakes
It plummets down still past the stars past the battered moon
On, on ’til the cracked rocks Pull it under, under, under
and my steps feel heavy A fat brick kiln burping within And steam and smoke strangely slither
Then one more brick breaks loose then one more, then—
and there is a plummeting within me Like that of beads from a broken necklace They lurk from flesh to flesh Climb up my bare white trees filled with mud
This faded landscape painting claws down my spine And ***** its stollen hues out Like those
of battles or slaughtered moths Of old, crinkled terrors etched with foolery Hymns of fury undissolved and those of naked, shivering sheep
a kitten’s skull stuck down the drain
There’s a plummeting within me terrifying, and disgusting; angry and beautiful— all hyped up to scream I fear the landslides will carry me along and I will let them.