In this eye I saw, swimming in oil, a stuck receptacle of life own making.

But when she came, all coloured and vicious, she stared like flames burning my thumbs.

Before darkness shrouded a minute of time, she screamed through walls examples of their hubris- or mine, whichever the boiling point gave.

I switched beneath tentacles, hoping to grasp one and ease the aching in my over-dry wrist.

Thus before I shook my language and submission became glory, I felt the gentle whisper breeze along the canal and tell me- with a sharp stabbing;


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s