Tuesday, May 09, 2017

The Smell of Daytime

It's morning
I emerge from the first circle
where there is only me
dripping with ectoplasmic yolk.
The sunlight is low
reminding me loudly
through the window.
But I come out slow,
meeting with you,
the people of the symbol,
in light flashes and black kinks
halfway out of dreams.

Something beyond has life.
as slowly my sources of pain,
fragrance, touch.
I hear her.


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