***
i wear my black
est black. funereal, almost.
and lay flat
est flat; under a dusty rug that is
under a heavy rock that is
at the bottom of the black
est black well. and i think
i will be safe here.
it
cannot find me, certainly, and i
exhale, a long, long
hiss, a tire leak
ing air through a crack that
cannot be sealed. and when i am
still, silent, breathless,
supine,
it speaks.
its slithering voice
whispers to me, saying,
fool.
i knew
all along
this is where
you would try
to hide.
“For when I kept silent, my bones wasted away
through my groaning all day long.” -Psalm 32:3
***
image credit: http://orig00.deviantart.net/0c2f/f/2008/023/c/e/_abstract_darkness__by_mysterybugster.png
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