Eternal, unseen (NaPoWriMo Day 11)

 

 

“And I, remaining in this self – same place,
Will, for myself but one, make seven appear,
When my shrill whistle shall be heard; for so
Our custom is to call each other up.”
~excerpt from Dante, Canto XXII (Argument)

Buzzsaws are whirring
in my head.

My throat is burning.
The air is thick with hematite.

I’ve become the Schlieren image
of your turbulent lips
blowing out all my matches
just before we were lit.

Every ion and ism within me
kicked off my chaise longue
where I like to recline
on the lamellar eye of the moon
my future demagnetized.

The loneliness forming matrix vesicles
a red ant army march tunneling
through my bones, hollowing lacunae
creating the holloway you thrush through
creating tumuli – pulling all the pins
out of this skeleton until I’m
a tumble of discarded want,
porous and brittle…

And another empire falls.

I feel the crush of gravity
the canting of moments
the mass and weight
of all those dreams

Crazy dreams

Fighting
for their right
to life.

You are two sharpened No. 2
pencils from being,
but I quit writing in cursive
after our mirror cracked
8 years ago – hoping
to halt this haunting of words,
our now and ever
viewless, soundless
these spectral signatures trying
to exorcise demons from ghosts.