Wretched

you were my luminous, liminal space.

I have always been wretched,

Drowning.

You were between what was, and next,

a restructuring of the restraint of time

That I have shackled myself to,

a severing of frozen identity

a release of form and shape, to a painful point of self actuality.

I’ve always been wretched.

It’s not for pity, it’s not for tears.

It’s the shape of the definition

It’s the form of the boiling sugar that creates the green sun-lit candy.

Too much stretching, too much heat.

You, my liminal space,

Brought a breath of crisp fall.

Like Charlotte hanging from the web,

Your web creating a new form,

A chimera, eidolon; a stretch of magnificent artful moon-lit words

Like a luminous, liminal scarf

A self-imposed noose,

A wretched, slithering dream

Of a liminal, glittering prolix scroll

No next, only in between.