I sing of a well,
walls rippling,
coursing with sediment.
It's velvet opening,
hot, wet streams.
I dream of a well
I can crawl back into
that never stops giving
her waters to me.
Someplace to sleep
between worms
and her blue saucer ceiling
Warm.
Curled inward.
Upward.
Gazing through her satellite
at her watery beams.
Beautiful. My favorite line, "Someplace to sleep/ between worms/ and her blue saucer ceiling." "Blue saucer ceiling"... You know you've read something superb when you hate yourself for not coming up with it first.
ReplyDeleteOn a curious note, I too used the line, "curled inward" in my poem "Home." I was describing existence in the womb.