The Body Poem Project: Terror

Terror

Overnight, I became a giant of weird textures,

My head grown red like a wisp of flame,

A dead taste in my mouth.

Yesterday, I gashed my back on a low beam,

Hunched underneath and smacked my head

On the wooden door frame.

This morning, my oily veins stand and wriggle,

While the animals outside startle at,

The thumping of my heart.

In time, I would feel myself shrinking,

Mined into dwarf-shaped diamonds,

A fragile giant grown small and hard.

Usual writing room. Usual posture.

Comments

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Shel Graves' Sensorium

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