Fog

Hands in Fog

Brooke DiDonato

 

The fog, visual genocide,

Pries all paraphernalia

From my blistering irises

Only blankness will serve this day.

Patient like the needles on gorse

I wait mouth as wide as a drain

And suckling as if the air

Might hold some molecule

Capable of sweetening this sobriety

And how many candles

Were extinguished

That you should rise now

With such vengeance?

A vulturine army collecting

On these static grievances

Oh fog, you have made me a chameleon

So scarce I cannot even find myself

Not even a thought

To resuscitate the previous

I shall die in this amnesiac sea,

Flailing as Medusa’s vicious cortege

Voice in tatters, hands white as soap

*

I have been organizing paperwork all day, very monotonous work not particularly inspiring!

 

 

Advertisements

14 responses to “Fog

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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s