The Groan

Not exceptionally cheery and FYI, not autobiographical… yet another of my “fiction-poetry” experiments.

The groan rose from her chest, alien-thought-form
breaking through from the darkness into the

earthquake chasm created by the light, coming, there, from
the open window, open door, open-anything made her
soul skin shout, dried up rose petal word showers

“Don’t even think of making me rise up and out of this bed…”
She’ll more than gladly stay here, safe, dusty and
unexfoliated, under this slightly grey sheet

Her toes unpedicured, my heart unspent, her mind
made up.
“Don’t even think of making me
rise up and out of this bed…”

See more progress on: write a (sloppy, half-formed if need be) poem every day (or so) during October 2010