I knew from the beginning,
fantasy and friction,
inconsistency and distortion,
horror,
and the power of fragments.
There's a scream
very like an owl,
a light behind my eyelids.
I miss my ghosts.
In this strange haven,
lonesome hysteria
makes me wonder,
and I wrestle with doubt.
I could step off--
a leaf falling unnoticed.
5 hours ago
1 comment:
That is a very strong and alive poem and the ending devolving into a soft glide gives great contrast to the preceding volume and intensity.
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