Prayer for Wonderland
by Angela Stevens
never could I imagine the tin plated ants
coaxed up my spine
whispering ovulations of delicacy
armoured sperm invading and gnawing,
the forming of chrysalis,
and the aging of the sun.
But I tried to see this differently.
I ate the glowing amber embryo
and cried when it burnt out on my tongue.
never did I watch the moon crumble
onto the cabbage patch, flaking leaves of greening flesh;
birthed their own cries
(and through this part I smiled)
I wanted that taut envelope packed tight with suffering
and, choking, barely breathing & burning.
I was a selfish girl, they all knew that.
their dolls, their children, their own blood matter,
tore at the webbing of decay as if were their right.
sweet rhapsody of paraflagellate crimes against flesh
and other living substance. A parellel mental decapitation.
They had their revenge then. I bare the scars and keep
proof under my finger nails of what has entailed.
Softly tense, but keeping my eyes closed tight [full of needle dust]
Burning into trance trauma beats. Don't stop.
The ghost stop between palette and feast,
is where you left me, without a care.
Spirits told me how the sky was formed
[but I was blind to it]
'god spat ink out so the sky was born'
they tapped into the blindness and I screamed
I told my captors,
I. Am. Late
but they were leaving
haemorrhaging my sight back to me
flying through blood clots
to get back to scar tissue
leaving me in my own hell.
Author's Note: Sex used to scare me.
Posted on 01/22/2012
Copyright © 2020 Angela Stevens
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Linda Fuller on 01/23/12 at 07:28 PM|
Wonderfully disturbing imagery. 'don't stop' indeed.
|Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 01/24/12 at 01:17 AM|
Definitely leaves you feeling as though someone borrowed your skin for a while. If that makes sense. Breathtaking.