A moribound wave suckles at my veins.
Too many nuances to sedate,
emotions both pivotal and redundant.
We have been here many times
and yet each new birth must be named.
–
Stars jaunt episodic beneath
a swaddling of ashen wool.
We are not broken, at least entirely.
Maps catch fire beneath a callous wind.
I no longer remember the origin
of these implausible dreams.
At least my memories
have not yet forgotten me.
–
The moon is my reference.
Her slight figure, the endearment
on which my infamy is tested.
“Do your beliefs cripple or serve?”
Always the same question,
always the same dilemma.
–
I defy the axis around which I spin,
my tears so much wash and bother.
Does your plasma bend or persevere?
From one Penny Dreadful to the next
I leap without ever grasping the plot.
Still it thickens and I feel myself,
at most, unworthy of the subterfuge.
–
Does your stelliferous heart
burden or does it merely fend?
Pain cannot be bridled, bottled or bought.
Will it catch you unaware,
a spindle, a catapult,
an archive of mute, intangible horrors
or will you examine tenderly
the outraged orphan within?