Pollution
A Prose Poem
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Manifested world, against my will and so it carries me, through landscapes built of bleary clouds and wheels propelled to an abyss of bright
white light, hands held out like sacrificial lambs to the sensation of your skin beneath them and between the walls of every room we fell into like
night could not come soon enough.
Twists and coils of reality stretch out, forked roads to choose between, flipping coins on the edge of eternity — you keep your tails between your legs
death begs the end of us — though survivable, I place the frozen statue of our love on a shelf somewhere I cannot see or reach,
teach me each lesson slowly, so I remember, so I move on through throngs of dreams — wiping distraction from my eyes, for the first time there’s perception
collecting direction to move on.
