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By Gail Miglorie for Brain Arts Org
May 13, 2020
Distilled Disorder
We filed for unemployment under a vortex wind that isn’t controlled: disorganizing contained disorder. Now only the Six Red candles I bought online since our shop closed light my walls and I'm waiting for the power to go out and turn the wind cold forcing us into the 'safety' of our sterilized homes where we hibernate, but nothing about this is safe here. I've probably killed a handful of ants and centipedes by now, they're taking over the kitchen and the bathroom spider (my Pet) crossed its legs and hung like a hanged-man, 'mimicry our existence,' it wrote secretly from its silky veil, nestled on the rafters of a black mold curtain. Enter purgatory now the windows whisper, my heart vibrates, There's Holy Basil where my lungs should be and chamomile where my eyes hide. Song of a door bell, feet shuffle and doors quietly open unlocking us from our coffin-posed sleep, who goes there? Hello? Coming! HELLO? door opens slightly, letting debris inside Hello, this is your nightmare, bleed onto the walls, let me hang you here like your Pet.
Inside Out
sickness in plastic dark dark dark everything is dark I am only seeing light auras of yellow on stone dovetailing with blood in its cracks static electricity pulses pulses pulses shatters pulses pulses breathes into my brain where feathers are waiting to fly into wings breathe breathe but my lungs cave in together scream scream scream angel perched on the window blending into the curtain silver silver gold silver hair dying forming nests in my nose garnet knots in my mouth and between my eyes and out of my skull only rose dust settles down on the floor and my eyes are left open and peeled back back down, lightning on the lampshade.