Why I Write

By Whitney Van Den Flux

Why wouldn’t I
When this world welts and whispers
When I can no longer find the wet woollen kisses,
of wells and slumber,
lumber and bells.

I light a fire for you, at my bed side table,
A cache of fleeting ephemera,
Latched by eyes, sneaky,
Somewhere wishing for you to catch alight,

Will, that you were woken up,
By some singe sunken, pick-me-ups
Lungs linger at your lips-parted,
Breathe me in, and planted, like a tree,
I leave you little wonders,
Before turning round an axe in hand,
You leapt, you fall, trunk and all,
Landed branches reach,
Harness something – some hope or dream.

But you were naught – paper to me,
Flocked sheep, folded origami,
Scissor heaps on moon-laden pantries,
Gleaning wind-less wings would linger,
as your parted ways, svelte fingers,
trace the tail, indexed spines,
Synthesis ; Intertwined.

A simple kiss – a single mind,
Silt sifted thrust papers,
Push gas lit hazards,
Burnt, Fizzle, Die.

2 Poems

High dose peyote initiation