Cannibal Caves and Pulverized Pumice

There were deserts emerging like wolf packs
after a blitzed winter spent in cannibal caves,
deserts erupting
because everything we touched turned to glass.
And the clocks were crab-walking
on their hands
in reverse
so the glass regurgitated the lightning strikes

Into our trembling palms
and crawled backwards up and into the womb to turn back to sand.

We wondered if we talked. like. this.
if things would feel better.
We wondered if. we danced. like this.
If things would. Feel.

I’m talking about that moment where you feel your tongue separate into a serpent’s
from the weight of all of the words you hoarded and collected and polished,
and that moment
that they fall through the crack

Like flesh-flavored magma,
and everything we touched would turn to glass.

This foot. Left. Your hand. Right. Swish. Scrape. One step. After the next.
Everything in reverse.

The desert
poured down and through you,
shaking in miniature pulverized pumice pieces
like an hour-glass.
AND I WISH I COULD SHATTER YOU
JUST TO MAKE TIME STOP!
AND I WISH I COULD.
SHATTER.
YOU.

 

We wondered if we held. (one another.) like. this.
If things would feel. Better.
We wondered if we fell. like. this.
If. Things would.

Author's Note

unfinished

Reviews

[Tkess]

I like your use of imagery in this. The separated tongue because of weighted words. I also like the underlining metaphor wishing to live in a particular moment. Very nice work.