EMACIATED FOR THOUGHT
by Alex Bell
I am violent starving eyes,
my mind, carved out like a hollow carcass,
its ribs bowed with the ghost of flesh
hangs like a shredded flag. Eye struck
by the witch’s sabbath
dancing by the cackle of a flame.
Within these wild wooden irises,
I hear a rustle in a nightmare
a silent monster purged of scorn.
Where has my anger gone?
Where are my bangle teeth?
How do you know who you are?
Do I wait for someone to tell me,
or do I write myself like a god?
If I stay here in this room, at this desk
I can play out my passive fantasies, but
out there I’m as hungry as a beast,
like the ones they throw in cages.
Who am I to live? Who am I to die?
Is any decision whole so long as it’s made,
or am I shipwrecked in waves of wonder?
They say it’s like an impulse, a state of being,
like knowing how to breathe or when to cry.