Softly in the Surge.
reach backward
when death was warm
and obstacles slept on floors
new worlds poisoned old worlds
with defeatism as a weapon
angry as a torn figure
slothed in my sunken form
i am not alive
i will sell my children for hallucinations
buried in a lapse
trapped in unearned realities
back and fourth
across a stretch of time
clenching contradictions
in the fist of my heart
wrapped in legs
stranded in a dead body