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English Chronicles 2025 26printed 33 · PDF 43
113 pagesrevision 50822
printed 33 · PDF 43
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LOST
Empty room,
Cast about for a familiar object,
Because my body needs coordinates to move.
In the dark,
Range of motion shrivels all around me,
All my nightmares, I am slowly being cocooned,
A single calf in the hecatomb.
Crescent moon,
Hollowed out of all my fabled insides,
Occam, shave me down to primal truth,
Return me to the womb.
The spirit held a magic flask,
Said, “Drink it to forget the past.
But careful, it’s a poison batch.
Each drop is more painful than the last.
If you fail, you’ll wish for death.
If you finish, you’ll be free at last.”
In times dark and glib,
Little baby in a crib, hands reaching up,
Before the blinding light is split through the prism of your
organs into colors.
All that being and nothingness, on the same Mobius strip,
Sleep and waking up.
AC Chronicles
33