Polar
in a closet.
a place where the curled
reach up from a valley in a psalm.
hollow cloth hangs above.
crucified angels of wool,
or effigies of last defense.
no mediation,
not here in anxiety’s womb.
this valley in a psalm.
so inky at night.
this place where lack-of-movement
captures movement.
it prowls. it
alone stalks,
until dawn,
when a thought might think
the price of admission
beyond the door
is the same as the door.
======================================
Depression isolates. But isolated time is time with the gods.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment