The Photographs

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic


Submitted: April 26, 2018

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Submitted: April 26, 2018



The Photgraphs


He listens to her heartbeat

Against the noise of the surf,

The serpent coils around his veins

As he collapses into chemical architecture,

The photographs are frozen on the wall,

They exhibit limbs missing, or being restored,

Perspiring weeds growing on the scalp

Of the amoeba.

The museum is cold tonight,

Candlelight wrestles like a kite

And lights his amnesia.

He stares at the photographs

Of the foetus peeping through

The manhole in the roof,

Of keys, chipped and caged yellow.

He stares at the photographs of the sea,

Silent and guessing,

Of the lightbulbs smashed against the ceiling.

He stares at the photographs of the organs,

Of the eye, moon, and stars.

He stares at the photographs

Of her gaping mouth

Swallowing subterranean plants,

Of her nose, chin, and ears

Jutting out like kitchen  knives.

He opens the window and lets in the film.

He watches photographs of the wind,

Of the snow,

Of the planets sleeping in solar sleet.

He remembers photgraphs of their kissing lips

On steel balconies,

Of their nervous systems on display,

Of portraits nailed to walls.

He has photographs now 

That conduct electricity

To the birth of bone,

Threadbare of skin

And hanging in vacant corridors.

He has photographs of the cell,

Of a glimpse of sheet lightning,

Of her waking and sinking,

Beneath the lightbulbs

In the quiet hall.

© Copyright 2019 tom mcmullen. All rights reserved.

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