All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream
—Edgar Allan Poe
I was seven levels deep inside myself
……………………….on
floating…………………………..a
……………………………………………lake
…………..of…………ganglia
each level had a door that led to another door opened
with a sound I translated as
emptiness
I saw
a light made of white bones stretch…………i…….. n…….. g….. itself
towards me was a tapering flue
that promised me one st
…………………………………………………………………..e
…………………………………………………………………………….p
short of the sky
hand on its heart
that exodus was the half-lit widow
her deadborn tear, her veil of vertigo
a satellite
trapped in a loop I could not quit this dream
where clothes were sewn from blood
and night and day the same dark
I tell myself this is not my life
this is death or its rehearsal
drumming its fingers
on my crossbones
I am metabolic
flit from d֍se to d֍se
giggle from hysteria, not joy
the world inside delirium
the surface runs like a white lynx beside my eyes
parallel to the conceit that I will recover
how far from resurrection does it lie?
fathoms, veils, membranes?
no waking life, demons bicker
over which part of my head to squat on
and everything repeats like a cult
like a language I have no ear for
darkness a voice of black hosannas
presses pillow to my lips, mercy is its weight
from which opiate cloud do you descend upon me?
am I real or metastasis?
some lonely saint or charlatan
bring me up Lazarus stand vertical
like a crumbling turret to the sky
searching for any sign of hope
like when the guillotine replaced the gallows
or a void discovers an ellipse
if I ever make it back to you
the first thing I am going to do
is scream for hours
Shane Molyneaux is an emerging poet who lives in Vancouver BC and has recently completed the Vancouver Manuscript Intensive (VMI) program. His work has previously appeared in the poetry journal Litbreak Magazine from New York City. He writes verse, fathers, and fishes.
