Omer 20 - mycelium

yesod of tiferet

By Chaia LeviPublished about a year ago • Updated about a year ago • 1 min read

I cannot find my head.

Nothing and everything goes together,

a mosaic forced with weak solder

and sharp glass.

The pieces can’t speak to each other

and I cannot speak to you.

The fingers and toes have gone numb

and my skin is peeling off.

Already, the water is in my lungs.

Already, I’m machinated apart,

yet we are not machines.

Life returns through decay.

I return through the decay of

my old selves and old ways.

I am the fruiting body.

I will find the pieces through

filamentous mycelium

in the cool, damp spaces

I was left in.

———

like if Nabokov had a brain injury

artist, writer, photographer. focus on horror and nature. all original content, all made myself — no AI.

bluesky, tiktok, tumblr: @chaialevi

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