deepundergroundpoetry.com

Selenite

 
I met a man last night, a cold man. He said
our skulls reminded him of home and the walls
are thick with spider-prints from their blood.

He saw the disrobed, winter trees everted;
the branches are roots on white soil,
the trunks are pendulums, he said.

He's pale and has been here far too long,
but the life of a myth is too sweet.
He lights another cigarette and blows out the smoke--

then smiles, as he imagines a tree, with roots underneath.
Written by MrAlptraum (Mr A)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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