the years are bubbles

dead years

Everything I perceive
tastes like bread
drenched
and mystical

I exist in such
a small place
light sometimes
feels as thick as
molten rock

it is
nonetheless
a world like a vein
an élan going
round and
round

the smoke
has swelled
up in the cantina
growing into threads
trapped in this
isolation

I call
this
prison
and a pistol
shooting
a dizzy me

breathing
in space
and little sorrow
I left this year

aging
with the bubbly



 

poetry blog

3 thoughts on “the years are bubbles

  1. like bread, drenched and mystical. that stood out for me. i wanted you to stay there, in that thought… not overly. i was eating a sandwich, which may have affected my judgement. you caught my interest. hooked it again with the last phrase.

  2. I wrote this throughout the day yesterday. Phrases may be disjointed, but I agree. The first one was the stellar moment, I wasn’t even eating or anywhere near of bread, got out from swimming hall pool, looked around and that’s what came to mind.

  3. haha yes i figured you werent actuallly with bread… my sandwich, i have a strange approach to communicating… that first phrase is perfect, ys.
    ae

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