Another Place
I write from another world,
where eyes bleed like watermelons
and voices are hoarse with the noise
of wriggling grubs;
where people tiptoe on the dead eye
of the earth to prise open locked doors
only to live in keyholes,
for the next room is an abyss
of twists and turns.
I write from another world,
in the green unquiet of an aged house,
where spirogyra and moss paint its walls
with shadows;
where we dream wide awake and
somnolent soles sleepwalk.
I write from another place,
a place of surreal reality,
where death is a lullaby spewing from
a broken bamboo reed;
where we kill ourselves with the love dream
and get sold in the flea market of silence.
———-
Poem: ggayisi
Image: Julius Drost on Unsplash