Mag 303

woodman francesca

photo by Francesca Woodman

 

You divert me.

My skeins surrender

beneath your ministrations.

A dervish of conspiracies,

a cascade of transparencies

and ineffectual metaphors.

You are a dimensional shift,

a sprig of coriander unblemished.

You unearth me.

My boundaries lengthen

within the contents of our excursions.

A dance with overlapping filaments,

a harrowing of congenital defaults

and unquestionable sentiments.

I am a paranormal infestation,

a morgue of shifting eidolons.

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10 responses to “Mag 303

  1. My mind is thoroughly in the gutter..and Im a little ashamed…but do me a favor and replace skeines with skenes. google it if you must. then reread this poem.

    im a child

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