Monoliths
While I'm constructing monoliths of tongue and spit,
I try to dissolve my thoughts to reach my spirit.
I scalpel my chest open as each letter draws—
My peritoreum cradled in Grendel's claws.
In four directions, my spilling Word slowly sprawls
Like the Bacabs, holding the sky until it falls.
I want to acknowledge the inherited shape
I've long-forgotten behind my mind's window drape.
I want to release the numbed, tingling soul inside
That waxes forth as if it were a moon-lit tide.
I want to divulse the worlds of integument,
And rebuild— from entropy— my sight's monument.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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