Wordle #147 “March 20th, 2017″

Week 147.png

The night is a ballet of light and shadow,
staccato and interminable I echo with desire.
I burn beneath the moon’s levitation.
She is iridescent, mother of pearl,
uncharacteristically immense.
I latch onto her with reverence and foreboding.

I am inseparable from myself
though my legs strain
with the effort to deliver me astray.
I am a perfect and disquieting fracture,
I am heat without a definitive source.
Where is my heart
when I’m in need of a sacrifice?

What use have I of memories?
Memories incite me only
to stillness and paranoia.
Where is my passion,
my great unnerving hope?
Where is the harmony
begotten of my tribal roots?
I am more riddle than heliotrope.

I understand the flame,
that in weeping I consume adjacent bodies,
that even purity sheds itself and is extinguished.
It is intention alone that I cannot grasp
how right thought can bleed
so readily into misdemeanor

What purpose does my crookedness serve?
Can one manufacture experience
through the consolidation of thought alone?
I await that precise moment,
the moment of flashover when the moon
casts her grin like a sickle across
my still quivering throat.


5 responses to “Wordle #147 “March 20th, 2017″

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