Journal: The Dreamer

The dreamer turns…tears her own throat out…fingers blood tipped reaching in and farther in, she sends breath like fire out through her eyes. They drop sandy water like the tilting river, dreams boiling underskin. The dreamer doesn’t speak anymore. Her fingers run over and over again across her larnyx and along the rings of her trachea, searching for a hidden treasure and hearing hoofbeats in the distance. She doesn’t notice the river water…the silver fishes, little snakes, crawdads and tadpoles floating from the rent in her neck until one tickles her nose with his fin. She flips her tail and swims, silver scales flashing in the sunlight.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.