Confessions at Midnight

There’s a place
into which I sometimes
fall and languish;
until struggling, I lift
my hand through humid muck
and grasp the singular note
of lucid air.
A concrete-like stasis
greedily attaches itself to me;
and I wallow in it.

For the time being,
I write a book of chthonic verse
where my legends thrive;
lauding illusory efforts.
Mystic love sidles in like fog
covering me in fluent kisses.
Each startling flicker
teases my skin and I feel the
correspondent shimmer
as it paints its synaptic trail.

An unending transformation
shoves me through countless deaths -
waiting for dense flesh
to scatter across higher realms,
to merge with angelic songs
exhaled in cosmic breaths.
Though fastened to this gravity,
I will not move through
viscous night into morning.
I am queen of the dark.
My pallid glow illumines
the road ahead.


© 2002 Melissa Songer