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Posted by
on Wednesday, December 28 @ 09:35:08 UTC
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: Metamorphosis
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on Wednesday, December 28 @ 09:35:08 UTC
bodhitree writes:: " I wrote this, this morning, I couldnt sleep....my poems always seem to come about due to insomnia in some form.
well, tell me if this is understandable. if so, what does it mean to you, what did you get out of it, in otherwards.
I sort of like it...Nicole
.
Sunflowers: stalks standing stiffly proud.
Sunflowers: petals gigantically spreading
OUTWARD.
They have been standing like this for too long,
In the sun.
They begin to melt, their backs twisting and slithering downward
Ever downward into a puddle
Of crimson, orange, and gold blood.
Congealing into a paste.
A paste that decomposes.
.
Fungi: hairs of sea green curl and vibrate
OUT.
Like wire mesh for an asylum,
Sliding up into the atmosphere,
Sliding along the purple air
and blocking wispy red clouds.
Folding over and over the dead matter, again and again
Until it can no longer contain its own death
And it bursts…
Spores fly:
OUTWARD
Like wasps riding the wind.
.
Noxious fumes consume the purple air.
Aerodynamic they sting with sharp accuracy.
Pinning me onto the dissecting table.
Here, where the sewing machine
Mends my broken limbs and slit skin.
And, as a finishing touch:
I am stuffed with beetles and cockroaches.
.
My stomach bulges and curdles
With
LIFE.
"
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