Damocles & At The Trident

Damocles

Drink me down

and dry, Damocles.

Now we rise

too late to greet the dawn.

If we could hear the noise

from our star

it would pound, jackhammer-dull,

burr-burr-burr; if

the sun blinked-out, we would count

down thirteen minutes

(twelve,

eleven)

until darkness gulped us.

The sound would outlast the last thing you ever saw.

(eight,

seven)

(Can you imagine

absence of vision/presence of sound,

crumbled intimacy in the darkness—

smashed by raised voices.

Tolling intonations. Tolling.

Like the afterlife in

Mesopotamia. Where

everyone was thirst-dry and naked

where everything was dust and wind.

Like overground, no difference;

they didn't believe dying would noticeably improve

or worsen your quality of life)

I spilled my soul today.

I cowped it.

In that lack of light,

no one would see what fragments

I lost, tore off, or gifted.

No hindsight forming new designs

on how I should have lived my life.

If a statue does not pour, it is not a gargoyle—

it is a grotesque.

at the trident

Squeeze in through

freckled doorways;

the would between the worlds.

Bow-arm straight,

legs curled clockwise.

Ye mighty have bent the knee,

bereft of years. Rust fingers drowned by sand.

If my outer shell is already dead

then vast extinctions slough off

in Cambrian showers. Every scratch

a blazing comet trail.

What you admire is

deceased. I am no better.

I burn and rise anew each moment; aligning

in micromovements, my glorious trajectory

through the sun.

Fire. Fire. Hold.

Where body meets breath we

are already corpses. That’s what I read in the lines

and furrows of your knees. Maybe that’s why I breath

easiest inside your cupped palms;

chilly little fins

snaking through the sea.

Lindz McLeod lives in Edinburgh, Scotland. Her short stories have been published by the Scotsman newspaper, the Scottish Book Trust, 365 Tomorrows, Twisted Aardvark Flash Fiction anthologies and more, with work forthcoming in 42 Stories and Cabinet of Heed. She has published poetry with Wingless Dreamer, Passaic/Völuspá, Prometheus Dreaming, Meat For Tea: the Valley Review, For Women Who Roar, Ink Sweat & Tears, and Indie Blu(e)'s Smitten anthology, with work forthcoming in Coffin Bell, Sunbeam Anthologies, Allegory Ridge, and Heirlock Magazine. She was shortlisted for the Fish Publishing Poetry Prize in 2019. She is the competition secretary of the Edinburgh Writer’s Club and holds a Masters in Creative Writing. www.lindzmcleod.co.uk

Twitter @lindzmcleod