ForkWord




Poems by Inchiki



 


Nichols Gorge Wetwang



what is a number?

just a little indivisible piece of nothing wrapped around on itself

the number plane
like a cave sodden field
a worn face
of dolines cut with
spilled acid

only a sort of inertia
prevails against these accidents

stretch marks in my text
record connecting white neurons
like drops advancing down a pane
the opium flower in my mind meadow

I smell a gag being removed -
take a quick breath between suffocating words -






Mind Spool  2012