Tang of Chlorophyll

Flowers coagulate in the

living room you can’t see

because I have strung ten thousand

chandeliers from the foil ceiling.

The season is polished,

a wave of salt rolls over

the soil at the other end of the street

but here is nothing but

the tang of chlorophyll and breath.

Enclosed in my equatorial dress,

I am as a letter to the star,

whose power I painted

electrical in a posh home,

mixed media mural on my ceiling,

cheap imitation regality.

The ground shakes.

The scent of salt

blossoms from the door.

Tears in my pale eyes,

petals shriveling.

And still my lights do not

go out.

Leave a Reply

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

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com 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.