Poem by David L O’Nan : “Blisters in Breath Pockets”

Blisters in Breath Pockets

It is with a jagged knee
I crawl to a cut of a sky on the horizon.
Burning museums in black smoke 
a drunken bird malaise.
In a smothering of pinnates floating like -
technicolor waves blurring all the bumblebees,
to an Ochre Opaque  
blistering to my eyelids

I hear my name silently screamed from, 
the muddy cement of this basement.
So many voices,
Dr. Faraday can't reject it
Chained in this soot, 
swallowed in the melting.
Imbibing in artist's paint

I am trying to search for the ghost with a familiar voice,
to pull me out.
I feel like I am searching for a specific ant, 
in a pile of grape jelly.
I need more of the precious dawn's light.
I am darkening in this solitary funnel of rotten.
Removed the rainbow from the sky,
and juiced away the passion.

It was the night that we loved like tilting stars
and meteorites ripping through our hearts.
Our hands remained slick as the lunar chippings
burned images of clouds on our windows,
that we hoped would be heaven from afar.
It rained around us like we were wrestling on the moon,
we awoke,
eyes barely open
creating new constellations.

Our blisters are invisible. Our breath forever.

(with help on one line from Faelen O'Nan, my daughter)

bio below:

Meet the Fevers of the Mind WolfPack Pt 1: David L O’Nan & HilLesha O’Nan

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

1 comment

  1. Loved especially the end and the beginning, which I’ve heard are the main parts to do well for an audience


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