In the split womb of madness,
bubbling black
through every pore,
I feel every inch
of every mistake.
With feathers for eyebrows
sipping in stars
like milkshakes,
I make visions out of bones.
Scuttling human forms,
birthed without light,
worshipping
the thick night collapsing upon itself
like great waves,
drowning the
unformed land.
Cocktails of green and white pills,
paranoia coating every tear,
the city,
the iris of the sky
holds no answers,
each nurse is an assassin
targeting every weakness.
Revealed in nightmares
stepping out of sleep
to walk the room like my shadow,
cyphering drops
with each step.
Images too unspeakable
to be accompanied by word pictures
that would make prophets blush,
spitting out their recycled
tomes on the dusty dry summer heat path
full of the ghosts of spring
David Hay is an English Teacher in the Northwest of England. He has written poetry and prose since the age of 18 when he discovered Virginia Woolf's The Waves and the poetry of John Keats. These and other artists encouraged him to seek his own poetic voice. He has currently been accepted for publication in Dreich, Abridged, Acumen, The Honest Ulsterman, The Dawntreader, Versification, The Babel Tower Notice Board, The Stone of Madness Press, The Fortnightly Review, Nine Muses Poetry, Green Ink Poetry, Dodging the Rain, The Morning Star as well as The New River Press 2020 Anthology.