Out beyond the edge of reason,
beyond where my senses can claim
I cannot sleep or wake…
nor dream.
In a state of
nondescript stillness. Bereft of
unnecessary memories.
I am not loved,
I do not love
in ways I can any longer
understand. Stark states of
stalemate.
Melpomene and Thalia
hunched over game pieces
a drunken heart
laments all a sober mind must
reason.
When liquid gold
and golden light
take to loving,
we as humans,
are no match. Either of
these elixirs in their limpidness,
bronzes our throats and
smothers our breath,
consumes our vision
with that last still drift of
sulphur, struck…
My flickering writhe
is a lambent match flame
Leaning in
to kiss a wild bonfire.