Deadwood
New piece written this month, to accompany the photograph of the same name. This is open to differing interpretations, and this is wholly intentional.
Deadwood belongs to the following groups:
All Things Poetic, Artistic, PhilosophicalWelcome to the Fall;
of Autumnal reverie-overloads
like power spikes
and psychotropic nightmares
that batter repression-memories
into open-air ritual sacrifice
upon neuron altars.
The dense mornings
suffocate lungs
like ashen drifts:
cut the air with knives
pulled from my back
and save your sentences
for judgement; these words
will out ‘afore I bleed dry
and fail like the forests,
leaves fluttering to ground-
zero as torn pages
of condemned paper.
My fear of change
changed everything.
Paths led down through
ever-decaying dead-end
rooms, stocked to ceilings
with detritus-distractions
from this incubating isolation:
fragile personae crack like
the spine of books which
crash to barren Earth…
Enough. Spool this
downed reel onward;
click forwards through
fractured frames in
stop-start animation,
one shot at a time.
Take the dreams
I saved and
sear them with the stories;
personal effects effloresce
with fiction in the flames,
reduced to nothing in
the sullen half-light.
This is October,
and those are the storm-crows
circling the deadwood.
It’s not enough.
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