I hear hummingbird’s wings
figure-eight beneath my skin.
Too many bitten sandwiches, people
walking by, containing
The wordless hymn
is a waterfall, pouring
through the smoke: not a dry ocean,
but, rejoicing. But this mind
is like an axe, slaughtering my joy
with world-worn concerns.
Who craves the contradictory high? Do I?
Do I love for nothing but death and bramble?
To be blinded by ecstasy,
to hunt again for the colossal Self.
I walk through the dust-ridden morn.
The wind splits my shell like a labouring woman:
It enters. It expels. It knows
Copyright © 1995 by Allison Grayhurst
Published in “Synchronized Chaos” June 2018
You can listen to the poem by clicking below: