Babe in the Woods

Wandering inside a rocky labyrinth
Whispering and asking myself for a complete and grand theory
A question
A big punctuated unanswerable kind of question.
Answered by a softer voice
I unheard it for the life of me I couldn’t tell you what it said.

The sounds of trees
As they all melted together humming into a bee swarm choir.
All of them tenors singing around my delicate sensibilities,
Breaking the crystal with those high pitched cries at
The octave of all deceptions.
Blindly sliding through an unshaped wood
Where all roads disappear
Maps drawn in night’s ink
On black cartography paper.
Long lines of highways and dashes of dirt roads,
Big blue bodies of water and brown paper mountains, all
Legendary but-meaningless without any keys, locked
Inside the stomach of the night.

Between the packed rows of forestry teeth,
The pointed firs choked while biting me into pieces.
Swallowing me whole down
The throat of the past.
Disgusted by my taste
They spit me out, coughing from my flavor.
I fell outside the lines
Imagining m a creation of myself from small
Fragments of past particles
Pieces of who I once wanted to see just
Ahead of me.
In time I know there’s a fire in the night
Burning up outside the front door
Red flares snap breaking sharp icicles
Another day cold and incomplete
Waiting for my mind to name it something simple, biblical perhaps
Like any new born.

Tell me what you think.

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