Free Entry 2, Week 15

Original draft for Free Entry 2, Week 15:

The gray concrete encircles my mind
like a Rottweiler’s chain choking
the life out of an anaconda.
Squeezing that citrusy lemonade
out of skin. It’s been a long time
since I’ve seen my own blood, absent
from the body’s self.

Whimpering virgin fingers tremble
in the wake of Nature’s tragedy. Dusk breathes
Mercury’s star-crusted poison
into the iron-clenched jaws of ignorance,
road-kill on the cement. Earth’s cracked veins
spell the essence of my innocence- CHILD,
chided for her beliefs in a system of non-conformity.

Everyone’s trying to be different: the panic
room of social construct crumbles like Cheetos’
chips at our toes. Ants edge out to digest
our remains, nestled between the edges
of the Atlantic
and the specific.


Revised draft for Free Entry 2, Week 15:

Dirt-Hill

Gray concrete surrounds my mind,
a Rottweiler’s clinking church bells
ring to entice an anaconda. The asylum
squeezes citrus lemonade out of dry
crusted sin; Earth's blood has been missing in centuries.
The virgin whimper trembles, fingers tap in the midst
of dusk’s isolated breath: star-crusted poison
bathes iron jaws of ignorance in waving black
sounds. She didn’t die, but she’s not alive.
Her cracked veins spell innocence- CHILD,
chided for non-conformity. How can we
differentiate the chaotic construct
crumbling like sand between our toes.
Ants are reborn to re-solidify our remains,
nestled between the edges of the Atlantic
and the specific.