Gravity

My Poetry

Cracking open my bleary eyes
I drink in the colour starved sublimity
I stretch out my hands and coal stained fingertips
and brush against something I lost so dearly, so recently

It’s a strain to shift back into gear again
inspiration dull and faded from its once vivid complexion
blindness morphing in and out of nearby vision

The night almost took hold
batteries were out of charge
stranded on deserted navy moors
drowning so slowly in the frothy whirling ocean
watching my life from reverse

The elevator of dreams never lets up
plunges deep into the terrestrial core
and even when it reaches the center it dissolves far into fast forward
No serene limbo for my aching limbs, for my degenerate essence

The faceless force and gnarled old women laugh at my ignorance
taunting, willing my brokenness to face its martyr
Yes, I am a fucking warrior
and this they already knew from reading my still unwritten biography
end to end, in the perfectly preserved archives outside of local space-time

Where’s that hope, that promise so bright?
I lost myself in the glaring absence of light
but those spinners, weavers of my fate,
through threats and jinxes and bribes
chased me back into the secret garden

For dreams are just dreams,
and dreams mock our hard places
forcing us to face a rock that doesn’t even exist
I am a daughter of the wounded centaur
remembered only through the stars
experienced only through a lover’s amorous gaze.

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