pretty things
don’t know if
it’s finished yet
this pretty thing
I’m working on
has ignored me for days
disappeared
is out prowling
the village
may return with
a live bird
in its jaws
a small dismembered
rodent. . . one can
only hope.
is it too much to ask
for a few stolen lines
a stray image
pray it doesn’t
scavenge too close
to the heart of the night
grow blind
with darkness
bring nothing back
but hunger
and Jonah
and Jonah
knew the whale
was sent
for a reason
for him, who
couldn’t swim
couldn’t drown
kicked against
everything. and
the whale was
the world
swallowed him whole
took him to the one
place he had
to be always
spat him out
unchanged
but hollow inside
blind this time
broken, remembers
nothing almost.
waits to be
filled with voices
become other
wants none of it. . .
wants to be unchosen
sent back
awaits the unravelling
of days
watches the sky
for thunder
the ocean
for the slightest
ripple
of whales
what it is
it is a blemish
that won’t heal
a sore that weeps
clear liquid,
it is a pest,
irritant, will not
be ignored
something to pick at
pinch between fingers
like a flake of skin
that will not tear away.
it is beyond
the realm of ointments
medicated cream
your doctor avoids answers
suggests prayer.
it matches all
the descriptions.
leaks blood.
has become the focus
of every waking thought
becomes larger
becomes something
you can
no longer doubt
has acquired a name
characteristics. . . .
you curse
the gradual process
of stages
resist the idea
that it is all important
all consuming
keep busy
wear long sleeves
high collars, avoid
the harsh light
that reveals
without mercy..
Plato's Caves online 