despair

I find it hard to be
This cemetery
Of ideas

With brain
of gelatinous storms
and troops of aerosol mausoleums

I already have the bodies
Of those claiming to have lived here once
My name stacks my specters
On the spines ticking spike

I don’t need these immigrants
Entering the ports of ears and eyes
Their letter footprints
In the bogs of papyrus
Manic paint swaths rioting
With these prisoners
Of awareness

I want to cleave
To that bald anchor of ghosts
Our beastly intelligentsia
Calls now;
Beyond the callous mental womb
Where hearts row with bones
Toward any other

 

Love it

 

Thanks

 

Very deep and thoughtful writing.

The part below was the only part I stumbled on... something about "calls now" was not clear for me. I'm sure it was me not seeing something in this part to have it resonate better. Very enjoyable read. Thank you.

I want to cleave
To that bald anchor of ghosts
Our beastly intelligentsia
Calls now;

 

thanks for the review-probably should be "calls now" or "is calling now"