Gnashing and gnawing
The hyenas rip and tear
Indiscriminately
No regard for the diaspora of scars
An Atlas of True Places
Unmoored from their bearings
The calluses and gristle untethered anchors
For pack parasites
My every strained syllable a bone
Picked clean
Disjointed and guillotined
My jaw locked indefinitely
Digging and searching
The cosmic archaeologist sifts and Sees
Circumspectly
Stardusted fingers map out the Trail of Tears
The pogroms and chattel brands
A constellation of Porajmos and proven negatives
Etched in the very marrow
My every strained syllable a bone
Reassembled
Preserved and translated
My jaw locked indefinitely
I'm an autistic writer who has a long-standing love affair with the Oxford comma. Leave me a comment about what uncomfortable, self-deprecating, overly-honest topic you'd like to cringe your way through reading, and I'll do my best to oblige.
Latest posts by Dynamite Garden (see all)
- Poetry: Cosmic Archaeologist - December 6, 2021
- A poem that shouldn’t exist and isn’t a real poem anyway - March 23, 2021
- Sensory Sex Hacks for Autistics - January 30, 2021