'Dystopian poetics', by Ultan Banan. Subterranean prose poetry.

Ash/Honey

I owe nothing and take everything.

I am the shadow that strangulates,

the umbra and penumbra my rhyolitic husk;

my words a salt liquor that drowns the pores,

strychnine

to their sourpuss soliloquys.  

 

I lived once

and died a thousand times.

I ate the earth’s core and regurgitated scripture

and when the Pharisees came

they mistook my ash for honey.

Days yet, they mouth slag and cinder. 

 

Peddling oaths, I eat souls.

Days are not long as their saline song,

and just as the sea drowns,

so the last of them poisons me.

 

A spark, a pyre-light on the black ocean.

A howl in the fog-grey valley.

Bleeding words in the dark mine of the unspoken.

These things they say I am. I am no such.

Out there, an orbit, a periphery:

Where I drown is born the song without shadow.   

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 ‘Dystopian poetics’, by Ultan Banan. Please note: flash fiction, nonfiction and all other content is the sole work of Black Tarn. Ask before republishing.

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