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.
22/04/2021
