A Remembrance of Pathways

A persevering and persistent

reminder of the schism haunts the

rods and cones; curdling curt

glances of the images and

memories into massive mosaics and

monumental murals; leaking

pigments like blood and bile from

an infected stomach wound...

And thus a remembrance of pathways

in the past is called up from the

depths and dungeons of the grey

matter, only to be closed off and

hidden behind cold iron curtains.

We all sing in our basso voices to

pull down the derelict walls,

widely painted with the gore we

brought and carried in our stained

hands.

Let us eat the dust of chalk and

lick the slate to sleight the

weight of the pressure on our

brows.

We reach each other with unseeing

eyes and tie our fingers in close

knots... and the tongue of your

kiss tastes of hemophilia... and

moth glitter.

[18:25|24.10.011] ©c.thomas.carter