Poetry by Brett Thompson
that I exist.
Spotlight witness
to the oxygen boiling veins
to powder.
I can’t imagine anymore
another life.
There are mice
skittering across
the gaps in our walls
there are flowers
who sprout without seed.
Last December you shouted
across a canyon, shivering
when the the door
to your room
returned only silence.
Always remember
you are small
but immense,
a forgotten pop song blooming,
a rusty lantern inside an empty cave.
If the kerosene puddles
at your feet and spreads between
your toes, inhale
until you can’t judge the difference
between it and water, until it is purer
than chloroform or even air.
Spotlight witness
to the oxygen boiling veins
to powder.
I can’t imagine anymore
another life.
There are mice
skittering across
the gaps in our walls
there are flowers
who sprout without seed.
Last December you shouted
across a canyon, shivering
when the the door
to your room
returned only silence.
Always remember
you are small
but immense,
a forgotten pop song blooming,
a rusty lantern inside an empty cave.
If the kerosene puddles
at your feet and spreads between
your toes, inhale
until you can’t judge the difference
between it and water, until it is purer
than chloroform or even air.
