I swallow blood with enzymes
and I wonder
how my rusty gut digests all that;
these cannibalistic dreams
drift
through
more violent thoughts
and rouse them:
as clouds move through a storm-hewn sky
with jagged rain,
a prelude to the sharper lightning
(the river
dragging past my flat
is too shallow for drowning,
the bridge too low
for a broken
neck).
Fossils whisper to me
but I do not know the language,
though I am breathing
and I seem to be alive:
their amber words speak only of preservation
in that fitful orange;
another hard prison
we would hope to avoid.
I swim in this Jurassic tongue, uncomprehending,
sucking in deathdeathdeath with pointed lungs.
I do not look at you
because I wish to be alone;
my mind is raw; it flinches from itself,
and your breath bears too much intimacy (weight):
it stains me with a bloodied pink,
pink like the shellfish
crawling up my throat;
knocking on my tongue;
on my teeth,
as they carry little screams (I must not open that door).
Eventually this will all come undone.
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Submission Name: Fossils
I have to agree with Keith. This seems well thought of - a poem shrugging the scientist's plight with a scientist's method. Even the "deathdeathdeath's" deliver a concise blow of their own. It's level brevity, if deliberate speaks so much and goes well with the foundations of the piece. What I like most about it is the fact that the persona seems all-too-human and this piece embraces that. When the character flinches, so does the poem. When s/he relaxes, the words maintain their composure. It's a bit difficult to pull that off sometimes especially when one also considers the sound and the other elements of a so-called "perfect" write. But this works. 