deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Rot That Wasn't

Mattress memory
fantasies impress  
bodyprints  
like the pallor  
of mattock hands
Chopping sallow marrow
and clamoring into my muddy  
mind - Irish loam
 
A foam is
the whole
the addled all
the ever-it I've ever  
known
 
Dizzied breathing
squeezes  
stale attic air
through pinholes;
Glycerol victuals
for the perpetually perturbed  
 
Wind is words
winding
my findings  
spell book bindings
slide down wonderland
as blonde reveries  
ooze  
profusely
through blued out wormholes
Written by AtoMikbomb
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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