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