Come into compulsion, you tell me. Listen
to the dread, its multiple iterations. Unsteady
my collective weeping in this strange time of day.
Seemed somewhere. Wild the coyotes and close.
I stopped and the tree said surviving the surviving
is all there is. Like any writer failing, a familiar question
ate my gut. Welcome the woods of one hundred
years ago, where from my body I retched a bad man.
From my hand, a spider returns to the leaves like a wolf,
apricot-sized. Dread scratches its wooden lightning,
the forest clawing utterances before me. You say:
survive everything in the past. Then survive this.
Pentimento by Jenny Molberg | Sandalwood Poetry Reed Diffuser
$20.00Price
