a lack of oxygen

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
no rest

Submitted: May 21, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 21, 2013




massacring gentle and quick,

i think

this world is mild,

the warm muscle of a terrible animal

asleep in the snow.

he's given us little peace

since we've shown him none.

for instance,

once, during furious rest

i clawed through my clothes

and screamed what i dreamt

to the horror of conscious earshot;

entropy, a winter system,

had gotten even,

conciliated frenetic thinking

 (constant unbinding and

 absurdity had taken the entire head) 

and discontinued torture

with the idea that living neighborly and to death

was the mind battering a stubborn body

(the nervous system a reviled offspring).

calm, or

relearning fear per breath,

i petrified.

would it have been any different

as an unremitting fall, 

i can't say.




a yawn is violent;

the sudden stretch and seizure of jaws

ensures a fearful tongue.

© Copyright 2019 Caroline Michaud. All rights reserved.

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