Acoustic Shadows
I'm five and it's a fire-dive -
sweaty-skinned and flambé-limbed,
kindling tingling in my throat,
matches scratching sandpaper skin.
Lying on the terracotta velour settee
watching sparky scenes igniting the room -
a terracotta army of sparks
marching through the grate,
grating like bars on the old forest gate,
black bars of night growing tall on the wall
and I'm always up against it
hearing echoes of the ethereal eternal
Help us help us we'll help you...
I want to be well, to enter the well
cooling the heat and heart of the house,
dousing bouquets of firelight
petals flickering on amber glass bottles of medicine,
her hooked hands feeding me aspirin, penicillin,
cream and green torpedo tablets
fever-spearing, strobing swirling the room.
Now nightshade creepers spine-twine in dark dreams
black echoes build on a sonograph screen
descending into the no-way-out well,
the inescapable hell of not well.
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