A Glass of Tea

by Emily Kell, 2012

 

shelved away in my bed, scratches of suburbia fading from

false red wood window pane

expanding beyond my head, beyond my labyrinthic brain

penetrating the soft impossibility of skull

 

dipping into collective to resurrect the Lull before

behold, below

wayward tourists disguised as themselves

on the sidewalk of East Park Avenue chatter

in an accidental echo of the Universal Buffoonery

Remembering abstractedly

hungering, in some secret stomach, for clarity, for the

belch of eternity

and I, in my bed

coiled like a nautilus

a fetus

constellation

 

slowly peeling away from the flesh

 

and into the smoggy city of Nostalgia

 

embarking

on the shrink wrapped journey

of flacid clock hands

waiting

to be tried

for conspiracy of lineareality

waiting

feeling weight

of monstrous empty space crouching in vein laced hides of oculi

flailing tongues and prongs and rogue addendums in

a stab

of abalone luminescence

 

before unpinning myriad of selves from protoplasm to melt into

mirror image

and sink in star spangled puddle of time

 

 

back in tent now-

redwoods breathing and weaving me into the fabric of freedom

back now

on asphalt tongue of serpentine highway with the ever allusive exit sign

and the gray nipple of moon rolling in  its tunnel of sky

 

back in liquid cave of ovum

back in cradle

of  drum

of prehistory

 

its laughing cunt exhaling death

 

into the bowels of mystery

 

into the womb of night

 

back

into the emerald metronome of moldavite

 

back

in teeth of quartz

blinking splinters of

colors of

white

 

back

in Temple of Collective

 

back in thirsty skulls of youth

 

back

 

in ancient wordless Seed of truth

dissolving and revolving from and into

nameless, faceless

 

back,

Now

 

Back.

 

to window, bed, and body

to merlot and sourdough of  breathing relic of

Sacred Self

 

back through monument of impossible mortality to greet

illusion of death in the parking lot of plight

back to nautilus blanket shelf

 

through robotic fields of cattle

seeking vision without sight

back

to

Screaming

bleeding

blinking

 

birth

of light.

 

 

Comments

comments