Inner Voices

I am collecting
the disliked bits:
myself as dark, ridged stones, 
frothy with knitted-in flesh.
I would change, given a wand 
and grace 
(that ineffable word, 
silver as a cat’s arch) 
but I’m spittle-shot and thin of eye
unable to see a way out
of the orange moon-glow.
My conscience, an
apricot clamour - juice on my face 
its sticky witness.

Silence screeches // thickening in my ears.  
Just so does an apricot’s swell suffocate the seed.  

I posted a longer version of this a few nights ago but decided it was incomprehensible and withdrew it. I have tried to give it more shape.

9 thoughts on “Inner Voices

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