Articles & Essays Book Reviews Creative Writing
Consciousness, Literature and the Arts
Volume 18 Number 1, April 2017
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I Dream in Arsenic
Drips of time dissolve—
tainted memories lingering
on my parched tongue. I choke
on the shadows I have been swallowing
for years. They have become my fingers,
my lungs, and my skin. I hear them
ticking necrotic, and pray I will rise
before they manage to ghost me for good.
Ammophiliac
I rise before dawn, rejecting sole
coverings, walk onto the tide-kissed expanse
uncovered by receding surf. Toes
sink into the clotted grains, the soft
dampness, a morning’s welcome. I walk
the beach, branding it with each step,
watch as the sun bakes it soft, feel it
graze feet, shins, knees
with a rising nudge of breeze. By noon
it is a mock desert, I lay in sifting
dune, arms splayed, sand angel, offering
skin in prayer. Sedentary sacrifice,
I allow it to cover me, claiming my palms,
my breast. My eyes close to the abrasive
embrace of eroded pressure, residual
crumbs of earth consumed.
I Am Mathematical
equation, a story problem with myriad potential,
numerals to plug into. I am solvable
with the appropriate amount of attention.
I am intentional
ly ambiguous, but designed to yield
predetermined response.