Rind

Of Mortality and Dreams

By Pixel FloydPublished about a year ago • 1 min read

Photo by cottonbro studio (Edited with Canva)

Fair to middlin

backpedaling through quotidian cycles

of suns and moons

and something in the mandarin dusk

put pits in my patina

Not this way, not today

will I be prey to this present husk

as I rip the rind of my rut

a black crow returns to the oak

clutching carrion

and I turn a leaf underneath

plucking my orange

death lives in our gut

On my back

everything looks up

above the mycelium that carries

the belly of my kin

thick and through the pores of my skin

my dreams are zesty

and there's a fire and a hunger

among the stars

just before I blow them out

I write poetry. Inspired by the undefined spaces where words take their chances.

Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.