one of the last poems i might ever write.
i’m unhurt here; deeply wrapped inside this ill-starred cell.
chaste of catching time in its seeping hoards
that worm, or unpolluted by the
lightless nature of breath in my
i can oar inside this fervid pulse where
i’m electrically prolonged
inside that silky wave
scene i’ll dream
and dream again
where life unearths
or perhaps, i wince and the spaces
and though i sink into an oily red
womb of her fastenings
i won’t dream of an appalling life
when i hiccup or pirouette my shaping
limbs to arrive at this
none outside this narrow pool
can dream or know, i’ll dream;
put me back into that blood
that last drowsy warmth
of my eyes yawned shut
before the first scream.
to sleep and sleep and finally sleep!
Samantha Lucero writes at sixredseeds.