the 12th of can't-remember

“a hole in space shall keep the shape of the thought,

the lines of the earth, the curving of the heart,

and from this darkness spin the golden soul.”

                                                         ~ dylan thomas

it’s the twelfth of can’t-remember

as i find myself marveling at the soft cadence of your affection

fluttering against my cheek in faint echoes of conjured memories,

and crafted illusions which bind me in turn,

to the hollow chambers of misfiring synapses

and daisy-chained coaxials tethering my lips

 to this anvil-shaped heart.

the steam rises in wispy forms

from places where all is void

and memories are married with dreams

becoming those smiling faces

left in the picture frame i brought home from the store -

smudged by the cellophane,

and now conceived whole by the very absence

of a loving progeny to call my own;

pieces of me left to bloom amidst the shadows

exalting themselves, sub rosa, within the absence of light. 

it is a moment to taste the waters

and wade out until my bristly chin

is beguiled by the ripples born

of ulacia's stone finally reaching the bottom,

and cry out little pieces of nothingness

to bounce off of the shoreline,

if only to sate the grumbling deception

that my tears could float here without end or amen,

isolated within these painful shapes of you

to clot the cursive wounds

all the while imploring of elysium

 that one day i shall awaken to a strange smell

and realize . . . that i am burning.

Author's Note

image is "the clockwork music" by sigu