i clap once and it is thunder.
cut me open and count my rings;
see the years i have spent
as a bird, chained to
the perch, its wings
clipped by god.
flames swell in front of me;
a sunrise in the dead of night.
smoke and sparks and
moss and ruin and
the wood crackles.
my bones break.
november stretches before me
as a hollow jaw
with a split down its centre.
sore and rotted,
splintered and raw.
a miracle in anatomy;
an opening for something new
to take root.
Opmerkingen