THOUGHTS FROM THE OVERGROWTH

savouring shadow realms

Dirt in the eye of Pan, white nights

an icy world drops from a leaf

health is an ice wasteland

sentinels of the world

shut down, silent, smothered

for winter on a second skin of snow

a dawn chorus of engines, rattling, coughing

a cry into damp windows, drenched

a crack in the ceiling, the wall, the floor

ground moves and birds fly away

another day

the last

biological virus forces its way up to the shivering burnt skin and yet she continues to walk toward that same repetition. That same routine drip, drip, dripping onto open and free realities undeveloped organic living substance. You fly, it gets in your ears

you fly, it drips into your blood pressure

you fly, it rolls your eyes, pressed under force

keep flies in your eye

urinate into your pores

dilute your blood with a sound of nerves

blood pressure, raw pleasure, it flies

shadow repeat, shadow repeat, shadow repeat, shadow repeat, shadow repeat