They say stacking flattened pebbles until they form towers slowly diminuating into sky by pond light is a calming exercise, that it tides the mind to a marble clear. But they who say that have never been the earth under the tower, slowly suffocating as breath bows to gray stone.
Must I wait an entire Plutonian year for another chance at your blinding ear? I have mapped the orbit of my mind – there is the cold time, then the incinerated time belted by bleeding stars, finally there is the dark summer when I am closest to your heart with my eyes turned outward so I can’t see how sweet and mortal is the season. All I wanted to tell you was to keep never letting go.
Memories fall like bells in perfect step to the music no one else cares to hear. To survive, I have carved myself a hive between the decomposing ribs of a late camel. Layers like fleshy white baguette and crust steam around my body – a tiny black kidney stone – until I can no longer remember breathing air that didn’t snicker syrup down my closing throat amidst the overweight nakedness of a casualty not worth feasting on for most. Lighter than wakefulness, my feet sink too deep to speak.