A stirring in the waves takes hold; plasm ripples
In crevices of mutation; respiring eyes keep vigil;
The unblemished wall encircles lightless wilds;
Spongy tendrils writhe like shimmering grubs.
Motion without volition; the dreams of gears within
Clocks, or a being whose breath is the tide;
A vivid but hollow kernel rests at the utmost bottom.
The stillness parts, deep in cycles, I am this rift:
The opening that is the opening of a hungry mouth,
Or the opening of the space between planets,
A vacuum, an outerness, impassible and silent.
The walls between minds, too, were born here,
Grubs clinging to a rent wall, pulling slime
Uncontrollably to knit that perfect vacuum with
Cold slippery thrashes: the scar my fingers worry
Over when the wind drones on, the numbness
Where another’s pulse might be; but instead nothing.
My Son, Curious Eyes Gleaming — Porphyrous Treelimb
The Facility — Poems