Accidents: A Collection of Poetry

estram høc ge sí

i have found a noose to be a friend
as collective a voice as stomps
in the elephantine tundra where,
a cruel pitch did shrug.

the cackle of imp, the trumpet-horn;
i have dreamt once i was never born,
and i stayed, in the line between life and death,
the drowning and the thin womb.

i struggled, no — i've closed my eyes,
my thick tongue salivating for
whatever it could reach. i am nothing,
if not hungry.

and did we stay the same throughout
the years? the plans confirmed,
a truth that's served with table salt,
i willingly consume.

present an ache for my waning tooth,
the blind thrive among us. when
i trust my senses most, i always fail,

but drivel, i have in abundance:
an open heart is dangerous, as dangerous
as candor unchecked. but pinches
and stings are for mere pests,

as claws and rage for beasts,
and deception and treason for kings.

— A. P.