when the world is done with me
we break into seven pieces, the sun and i
dip our toes in the milk of the eye of a hurricane
in our dark house overlooking the half-bathed sea
with the moon frantic at our heels
drowning a thousand senseless deaths
at the hands of a vengeful tide
it chokes and churns to incompletion
all the while
my arm-piece like radio chatter
dismantled, wafts over the stove
reducing the heady broth to a steady
simmer
YOU ARE READING
SENSORY OVERRIDE
Poetrya philosophical midnight pilgrimage through elusive facets of feeling & healing