Interstice
An interstice of the mind
Cannot be salvaged on abeyance,
The stasis of provincial, nebulous endorphins.
Absent of an umbilical tome in reflection,
Singeing the edges off telomeres in error,
Realizing one ought to have remained folded
Improbably still, some unclenched mornings
Drenched in a perforation of foresight
Naked as the clutter of beasts
The only way forth, continuing to burn,
The flesh hollow, as it is turbulent.
06 Apr 2012, 9:59 am
