If only you knew
the intensity of this wait

time has an abnormally short reach

I am conscious of every stub of hair
busting through my cheeks

these organs pulsating madly

fiercely
I hear my voice as a public declamation
and I know that I am
lying

if only I could find the right word
that tames the turbulent static
begin pouring soft flora
down my throat
the prayer is a form of evaporation

its crushing plenitude
opens up a region
for me to forget
my bearings

in the simultaneous act
of being keyhole and
spy.

 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog