Nocturne
Published in
Mar 18, 2023
Poem
Seven, three, two, five, six, one
Sequences I don’t recognise
over and under — quicksand
I sink through these shapeless values
converging around — digits prodding
carry me nauseous
Perched above, I always feel the Raven
hard beaked — burrows deep
Its black eyes are a gateway I never dare cross
A soft spot in my tissue gets used for a nest
I grow back body parts — I am the one meal
it will never finish pecking
The moonlit silhouette dissipates by midnight
Come morning — lips are laid to rest
when last rites reset them
Waking up — sweat dripped
I hear myself chanting
— …o, no, No!