Poetry

Step 25 (85.)

How many mouths must one enter?
Every door, archway, hole in a wall, tree, or mountain, space
carved out of any surface and/or object, it’s all
a mouth. And this subterranean submersion feels like
entering a giant mouth.
Why, O why, did I have to bring the somnambulist with me?
A tug on my free-floating foot.
This is why they are with me –
a quiet snap reverberates through
the silence of this sunken space
and, suddenly, light.
Hope.
The vice-like grip of my fear that I had somehow
sentenced my companion to a water-logged grave
loosens, and I can now make sense of our new
intradimensional dream tunnel.
There is not much to make.
Sometimes light simply throws shadows at walls,
and this place is so full of shadows
that we still can’t see its confines.
There is something, though:
a small ring of white something that looks like smoke,
emanating from behind my friend.
I point, and they move their lighted hand
to get a better view.
The ring expands, and in its widening circle, we see
a castle made of brimstone, a wagon made of tin,
a person made of fingers upon fingers of gin,
an army made of bats, a cavern full of rats,
and some sentences made of ragged fragments of phrases.
None of it makes much sense,
but with no present ideas,
we choose to improvise.
I leave this pooled prison behind
and rise through uncertainty
to float above the ring, and I,
I enter into its mystery.

Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s