Self Portrait
there is a space between the dream
where emptiness is sewn;
cold fossils drawn up by a seam
connecting earth and bone.
a ghost taps poems upon a rock
to bake their valleys in the heat
small veins of milk, packed thick with chalk
casting white shadows on a sheet.
he mocks me by his flight
time is heavy; flesh is rock
blood is a lock built in the night
and set inside a clock.
from sanguine chambers banished,
a wrist draws a line of impasse
on the map of its own hand.
like this a life will languish:
a ghost inside an hourglass
suckling the bones of sand.
© 2011
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Kalliope, what a poet, what a photographer…what a goddess!! Glad to squeeze you again!! Lisa 🙂
Thanks so much, Lisa. Always honored to be squeezed here! 🙂
My great pleasure! 🙂
Life and Death abundant in sounds on paper… just fabulous Kalliope!
Amazing prose and nifty foto. Thanks for sharing your profoundly important poetry and art.