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
anemic boat
i can oar inside this fervid pulse where
i’m electrically prolonged
inside that silky wave
the wistful
scene i’ll dream
and dream again
where life unearths
or perhaps, i wince and the spaces
tightly recede
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
eternal return
of what
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.
I do hope it’s not the last.
they’re just a bit more challenging for me these days.
the results do not betray any struggle 🙂
we’ll see. too much of a perfectionist I guess.
Perhaps 😉
Well, I hope that gets easier, but you do meet the challenge brilliantly.
I can summon one up every now and then, but I’m finding story telling easier on me.
Your story telling is just fine too.
Nooh! D: why? I so love your work. Although if it’s too hard for you I understand 🙂 I’m hoping you’ll continue though. I love reading you.
we’ll see. way easier to make stories lately.
I hope not.