Pseudopsychosis.

I dreamed

in Venus

a darkness without a place

in mistier

all-the-dead

feet at our bones

in our graves

the acacia weeps

we, like Ophelia,

fall then drown

but, madness is not

without a place

the sea waits

and severs the

white lines of the sun,

and leaf, I toe,

to rock, to tree and

eolith bones

to mercies

this eye of death

reddens the night

but, madness is not

without a place.

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Written for the dVerse open link night.

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