In the cleft of skin at the back of her neck, 
the old woman tucked her finger where it was warm and soft.
Pensive, she thought, the box of tools and
rules of life are found inside a single shell,
on the shelf in an empty apartment somewhere else.
Tearful and fearful fat drops of dreary dreams
tumbled and rumbled down the kitchen glass mostly empty,
as she sat frightfully alone in amidst the hustle and bustle
of ancient and fierce family love.
Without a thought the chair it sank
and the britches of greying lace from the lady's skirt lift her
upward and floating high she could smell the ocean in her mind and
breathe the scent of mouldy damp forest undergrowth.
But the language pulled her back and with a thud she fell and
at once felt again ancient.
The frond and strands of confusion and frustration
tangling around her weary heart and fretting her mind
within its cranial cage.
"How do I get out of this mess?"
Again to find the soft fold beneath the line of her braided hair.
It is subtle, like suckling a nipple or being rocked
into the endless sleep she craved.
Her lips, mounds of flesh and rippled blood,
not parted for such a time as they begin to meld and
fold into one another.
"Will I ever speak again?"
Like blocking the exhaust to a fierce fire inside,
but now, without the air to breathe the fire dwindles
inside her and she fades.
Her colours are dim, the face she knew, pallid and drawn.
Storing emotion in pockets of fat and flesh
where no one sees, but everyone notices.
And thus, she waits and smokes
and prays to an angry god, her god, her self and
watches the clock tick its second hand away.
Life shouldnt be this way.
the old woman tucked her finger where it was warm and soft.
Pensive, she thought, the box of tools and
rules of life are found inside a single shell,
on the shelf in an empty apartment somewhere else.
Tearful and fearful fat drops of dreary dreams
tumbled and rumbled down the kitchen glass mostly empty,
as she sat frightfully alone in amidst the hustle and bustle
of ancient and fierce family love.
Without a thought the chair it sank
and the britches of greying lace from the lady's skirt lift her
upward and floating high she could smell the ocean in her mind and
breathe the scent of mouldy damp forest undergrowth.
But the language pulled her back and with a thud she fell and
at once felt again ancient.
The frond and strands of confusion and frustration
tangling around her weary heart and fretting her mind
within its cranial cage.
"How do I get out of this mess?"
Again to find the soft fold beneath the line of her braided hair.
It is subtle, like suckling a nipple or being rocked
into the endless sleep she craved.
Her lips, mounds of flesh and rippled blood,
not parted for such a time as they begin to meld and
fold into one another.
"Will I ever speak again?"
Like blocking the exhaust to a fierce fire inside,
but now, without the air to breathe the fire dwindles
inside her and she fades.
Her colours are dim, the face she knew, pallid and drawn.
Storing emotion in pockets of fat and flesh
where no one sees, but everyone notices.
And thus, she waits and smokes
and prays to an angry god, her god, her self and
watches the clock tick its second hand away.
Life shouldnt be this way.
