Dreaming of Medusa

There’s an innocence in

scissors.

Design means them to

slice

but intent is null for

steel

once it nails limbs to mattress.

She’s here again.

Dust of dusk in skull becomes

open maws

at midnight, singing mourning wails

until mid-morning.

No means

to survive the many-mouthed silences between breaths.

Negation is systemic

among slushed neurons.

Nipping sleep snakes

disorient,

dispel sense and secure psychosis.

No menace to stab at

but noise.


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