amidst the abysmal maelstrom of
energy only a blind
man can see. The journey of my fiber optic veins fights
to clone me into doppelgangers but
the asylum has a
tight grip on my sight. Barbed wire around my neck,
I strain to catch a breath of the
ash that haunts faces
never seen. Cadavers of words lie in a shallow grave,
and they scream into the cockles of
repression. Wisdom
is no longer innocent, it has become the bile a swallow
cannot regurgitate to its young.
Instead, the sand buries
the slices of evolution that have separated like an iron
clasp. Procreation has become a
hobby, not a necessity
and the concept is as useless as a carpenter with rubber
nails. From this ignorance life has
been spread like moss
on a pier, where barnacles eat their young with carnivorous
fury. God is not a spirit in this
place, but a scapegoat when
luck falters and cartilage is only exposed in times of
desperation. The sign of an
apocalyptic presence is denied
by those who are colorless. The planet has begun to crumble
like the Berlin wall. As islands
sink, mountains rise, and
even when the incapacitated generations vanish, nature
will contain their history in its
roots. And so, I will watch
with sunken eyes and use my fingers to convey effervescent
thoughts as I make the world my
muse!
© 2011 Donna J. Sanders
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