|
Dust
by Frankie SanchezThese bodies must be holy to some degree,
born, bathed, and bothered by insecurity.
Nothing is holding down.
Something is letting in.
I am creating silence
with words that make no sound,
although, they fill the air
with something.
They say the majority of dust
is just dead skin,
still. Floating. Still. Existing.
Still. Everything but living.
With this I breathe,
inhaling my own dilemma,
parting my skin from all the tangible,
touch me and I dissolve.
My skin peels like a labyrinth
unsheathing the core,
that perforated space beneath my skin
that is endless.
Undefined and endless.
And so leaving behind the dust;
still. Feeling. Still. Fleeing.
Still. Forcing myself to recognize
my tongue is just a razor and my eyes,
my eyes are just an opening.
Taking in.
Absorbing.
Welcoming the change.
Dividing from the source.
I arrived with just a sound,
depart with just a touch.
12/01/2006 Posted on 12/01/2006
Copyright © 2024 Frankie Sanchez
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 12/01/06 at 11:38 PM "touch me and i dissolve,
my skin peels like a labyrinth,
unsheathing the core,
that perforated space beneath my skin
that is endless,
undefined and endless." I like all of this, but particularly this stanza. Thank you.
|
| Posted by David R Spellman on 12/03/06 at 11:31 PM Some really great lines in this - thought provoking and very interesting. Well done! |
| Posted by Bradd Howard on 12/04/06 at 05:50 AM you know what I think of you... but I also think you can write! wow this is good stuff... I often think of dead skin flakes floating around and touching me... kinda creepy isn't it? very nice work mister |
| Posted by Katerina T Nix on 12/06/06 at 12:31 AM Wow! What a great piece! I really like the imagery, well done. -Kat :) |
|
