My perfect bioweapon
I’m drifting forwards
It drifts back at me
A rampant grey mist
The beaming vapour
Blinding, overbearing, inexhaustible
Over there, my body floats downward
An ashy haze that is indifferent from the sea’s vinegary spitting
as the sharp precipice fray it’s cover
Unmoved by the violence of the current
It sinks
Below the reflection
The worlds remnants become a flare of refracted light
Deeper
Now the endless navy becomes ebony
And the weightless star sparks shut
Sonar pulse
The waves of infrasound disperse ‘me’
Extending forever - the plain, plaid, grey heavens.
The only remnant of existence - myopic karsts.
made to be small by the effect of distance;
their gloomy silhouettes hardly distinguishable from the plain, fair air,
A single weightless flake of snow.
it maunders around your nearly nonexistent body,
Eventually, this microscopic frozen feather descends toward you,
And finally,
it grips your upper lip
Clutching,
Balancing,
then collapsing
into a drip.
The complex gothic intricacies of its structure
they become disintegrated
Your effect expands no further than the few melted drips of the weather.
limb - o (the lie of hope)
Enveloped in the ether.
Powder settles
Amidst the elephant graveyard,
Adrift
A pithy adornment - ectoplasm,
Forces that forbid the fruit of the fallen and frail,
Skin becomes the dejected draught,
Dusk.
So rough in its lifetime.
A blistered epidermis,
The illusion of wholeness fades and it transpires as particles,
Restful in their death,
The shredded skin descends to reassemble and meander amongst the cadavers,
The last eye closes as you hear the exhale of final respiration,
Apophatic discernment of the fallacy,
Excess tears,
Drying and becoming frosty on the calm surfaces,
With time we withered,
We yearned for the spill of a season,
Life after liveliness snatched by the flute bones,
Withheld in a sound of grasping,
Wonderful whistles and drones eek out of the hollow’s chasms.
So tactile; worn with age.
The vestiges of their voices ceaselessly reverberated,
dolefully dormant demons
sucked into the vacuum of distance…
A portent venerates in the form of a kiss,
Hermitic,
Hiding in the pockets of the nether,
The fruitful ether…
It’s arid.
Wispy fog drifting as a sheen on the glass-like stillness,
Astray, a mollusc eagerly clutches to the gnarled cliff gems,
But once in a cadence of the oceans sway, it now realises isolation,
The last clam of its kind.
Almost peaceful in the lack of pace,
Only surrounded by the flippant whir and churlish rattle of the weather
The signal noise repeats, but later than expected.
Raven
Ebony
Pitch
Oil
Onyx
Soot
Cool black
But within, a slight blinding ray.
Lazily I slump backwards, while my head rolls forward,
A dizzying disoriented dissociative tendency I have,
I’m watching my body lie over there- but my head is toppled over in the corner of this strange box furnished with black,
Dispite being in the dark, my eyes are bleached by this tiny beam,
As water fills my eyes it disperses- and now my vision is overwhelmed…
Casket twigs at dusk
(https://soundcloud.com/anna-latham-1/casket-twigs-at-dusk/s- Q57NxxwO59i?si=803e884641c14c68ac33326a435d4759&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=te xt&utm_campaign=social_sharing)
today, I find
all I want is
to roll around on my hard wood floor
bruises of crimson and purple
and the grey
eating me away
it eats me away
did I want a hole dug?
to the core
the gravel and soot
leachate-
falling into the water supplies.
masses of stone;
resentment locked away.
distance. peril. superimposed by, newness.
weathering rock mottled.
green life;
lichen,
flourishing,
breaths of no perception.
chlorophyll engulfs the memory.
uneasy. building up, to sudden death; silence.
desire to photograph the blackness.
within.
disturbing empath,
following the black orb;
ringing the bell of the chamber.
stiff cogs churn.
echo of a scream.
aversion.
obsidian light.
Dissolution of turbulence.
Sylph’s Chamber.
swallowed.
a fragmented member.
hopefully lost in the winter.
hope lasts,
reverse
reserve.
mired in apathy,
mountain murmuration harmony.
freedom reduced to shackled lies;
chains scraping on the concrete.
their echoes palavering in the empty corridors,
eroded by nothing blissful,
only dismal.
smell burning rubber,
see the facial expression of the panic of time,
hear blades grating,
distant clatter of the raw-boned,
they were skeletons,
groaning.
the aftertaste of thick air.
taste the sharp tingle of metal.
resurrection,
barriers,
the slice of a sword.
presence,
razors in the oesophagus,
every breath irritates violently,
itching,
dense weights on your chest.
suffocate to hallucinate:
apparitions of violet glaring stars and fallen angels.
organs kept in jars,
smashed.
a glass vase,
orchids and iris drenched on the ground
shards leaking crimson blood.
the melancholy pianist plays for an empty grand hall,
white,
vast,
empty,
clean hope,
arid.
CO 101ppm Thick Air
(https://soundcloud.com/anna-latham-1/co-101ppm-thick-air2/s- GUxburLOHE9?si=5e2e7c237eab4e038af3147bba023830&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=te xt&utm_campaign=social_sharing)
faces cast,
materialised in
to
concentrated vapour,
a gust of nothing,
vibrating inwards,
outwards,
push and shove
by a solitary hand,
conjuring minerals out of the soul,
smouldered.
smouldering.
floundering.
reluctantly consuming,
contempt tempting.
smothering.
mothering,
the unreal void of avoidance.
blissfully glistening underneath a sardonic moonlight,
she walks through the viscose smog;
sees in the distance a heavenly cloud pumped out of the ground- venomous air.
And then her face became pallid.
and her wispy hair,
static,
ecstatic.
swimming in a black lagoon;
twinkling with reflections of the deceptively colourful illuminated decoration.
effervesce rises,
virulence transpires.
it appears that she has submerged herself in the corrosive.
the light had left -
her eyes
still smiling
as her carbon degenerated.
deadly beauty.
fake duty.
abrasive siren of mourning,
sharp,
senseless,
insensitive,
remote,
claustrophobic,
the addict
shooting chemicals.
charmed gunfire
blood falling slowly to the paved stones,
caught in time
caught in the beauty of light,
still left in her eyes.
in the middle of the night-
unrecognisable bedding;
ghostly memory.
figments not worth mentioning,
you will never find me remembering.
all had become adrift;
slightly yearning,
causing scattering;
no more flattering.
howling;
drowned in fire.
there she lay in an escape room,
empty,
starving.
Chains
rough and clattering,
clanging.
echoing through endless chambers.
rusty;
held on using desperate incantations.
seeming to get infatuated;
expending themselves,
consumers have been consumed.