Pseudopsychosis.

The last thought.

Rocks lay before

            the last thought and solipsism;

Inside a frost stillness, decaying by the tree;

Forbidden—the serpent’s blood betrays

            the bone fingers that lay upon stone.

                                    Feral. What happened?

                                                Illusory dreams

                                                are mere being.

                                                            Devising a relent

                                                                        to emerge outside

                                                            to the city, deprived of life

                                                                        deprived of streetlight.

                                                                                    the lonely catkins

                                                                                                with a vulnerable shape

                                                                                    like a stilling ghost with discolored

                                                                                                            flesh—lay quietly;

Disinterested, the blood pools

                        around the shore that kisses the leaf

                                    alone in finality.

© 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

Lucy

“Poetess of darkness”–dVerse community; cat hoarder, guitarist, keyboardist, psych major.

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28 responses to “The last thought.”

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