*^_\|~

i am in a pathless place

widowed, i feel my womb is stripped

it’s walls bend naturally inward to hold a ghost of weight

from this impression i bear the world many spirits.

they are my children and reproducers of my longing

and they do not know breath, like the first does not;

but are waking right now, commanding saltwaters

bowing without my inclination

as the first child did

after a soup of seasons

cauldron brewed, through whimsy,

healthsome, stringent, shackled, and resolve;

i am aware that i am this;

now very raw material

bending afore and aghast

there no longer being an above

there no longer being any below

i tell myself constantly -

sideways creatures living in the side, must’ve dug out vinyls in me

because every night is a gathering of rejoicers.

they relapse in burrows on the arterial plane in my life channels,

an archive of rushing noises and fast forward movements - a chorus of courses -

strangling blood clots thinner through to some otherness from togetherness.

on the walls i once wrote “extrapolator ensignatory” yet he’s feigning ignorance;

allegations of the architect in silence - revelator of enclavement

she finally says she’s ceasing the requirement

Now all my electric panel’s winters pass through a fleshy solenoid window,

and i try to act as a filter -

mostly sundial pedals,

the cistern sisters,

or the water pourers -

these three are my newest selections of vocal sabers -

- they dance like pitch on range, in a pitch black light

to the sideways inlet door fridges

each cold pass - i’m incredulous,

inseam again; morsels increasing my insular inches

months at once -

“outpace the tendril sates for upward stripping and swinging!”

she commands with full imbibe

“we are unthinning the clots!”, she tells me in her

penchant drunk morale

and somehow,

it makes me sleepy;

one word sounder,

deep slow learner;

“can we

walkthrough it for me again?” I plead