Internal flight

 


Internal flight



S/he: 



‘I am terrified by this dark thing

That sleeps in me;

All day I feel it soft, featuring turning, its malignity’ (Sylvia Plath- Elm)



Wearing the nights as gloves before surgery 

In this filigree s-hell, I built up soft striations— a spirderweb  

I’m caught in soft bones              A nest I do not own. 


Neither these words, neither these swords like 

dandelion seeds coming in and out 

                                       an exhausted mouthhhhhhh

                    

What is thhhhhh     is 

    What is thissssss                

         Ssssssssss  shhhhhh flllllllll   shuffle

       is thhhhhhh      is the blood running 

A thhhhhhhhrobbing vein twww witches     a door clo clo clo closes and o pens O p E n S a blink ink ink blinking eye? 





I walk on your body as if on frozen ice. Will you break? Will you let me d(r)own?     

–

—-  

   —---- 

         —----   

        —-



How long until I              touch the          sea(bed)     to finally 

rest? 




       V                          V                    V

        V                   V     V                 V

           V              V          V            V

              V       V                 V       V

                 V                            V

                 

you draw a ‘v’ and tell me that’s how the flight looks like. I draw a ‘w’ and show you how our flight would look like. 


Why this silent hand pressing the air where 

A butterfly gland was once removed 

Bottling up growths of infestuous herbals instead?


I draw you my house: an snatched eyeball, I’ll open it to you, I’ll let you in. 

Will you inhabit it? 

    this jelly place                   fleshy and succulent 

                             for wasp stings

                             for maggots and larvae   to lay eggs in   


Will you inhabit it? 



the time-door                                  closes behind you  the time-purple loosestrife grows up

  • a noise filled with ammonia  

  • the metallic cry                     ecloses                        Will you inhabit it?

  • the eye

is a funeral.     Where you left the legs/eggs  while         your mind detached itself.  


in my thirties

draw me a present. 

  • A poppy with black teeth. 

  • A dissected insect. 

  • A schortching sunset-s-hell.  

  • A blank paper like a womb/tomb with a died child inside.  





Or better: an iridescent seabed. a striated nest 

In other words, a place where I could         finally


rest.                                                             finally

rest.                                                             




Finally 

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