BURNING HOUSE PRESS

bleeders

one inch: wisdom tooth
two inches: impending doom
three inches: soul room

six inches;

silver string lifts my belly skin,
see my spine,

silver string glow silk,
like a prism in light
milk;

silver cord,
the internet says i’ll die from permanent astral projection but
even Wiki isn’t sure,

belly or bottlecap
silver string or tele-map,
i call and don’t pick up;

when did i leave
through the cheek of my belly?
leaving thread just

like rope tied round a tree
not,
i’m not dry oak or Japanese snowdrops,
i don’t bleed honeydew but

elm sap,
birch beer, maple syrup,
walnut
dogwood,
as silk

bark beetles burrow
silk floods tunnels
shattered directions of light & color
lost & lost
ground & sound

silk
blood
sap

in the seventh year
silver string snaps

Chebet Fataba @fatabak  is a short story writer. You can find her stories on djembequest.wordpress.com