day 19

i am a throat cascading small
flightless birds
oil-smothered and smitten
by the terrors below

gold, black gold,
led to an exodus from
the Old Me to the New Me

but now it's all sterile and gluten-free
laminated, plasticised
and no longer mystified

a clear film clings to it all
lest the realness of it consume me
or selfishly exhume old bits of me

so here, by black ferns i sit
in a greenhouse of memories
hanging onto me like cigarette smoke
lest the big bad wolf comes
to ravage my reveries