The past few nights I’ve dreamt a stair abyss.
Every narrow city was electric.
Technicolor compasses melting under carpets.
It seemed I was a speck of ink on music
Despite the darkened picture frame and wine,
Each animal collapsed black holes in rooms below
And almost hell’s where I’d wake up at day.
Some secret vacations existed in a dictionary
Some soiled taupe school cardigan
Some hiding cosmic threat to waking peace
In catacombs where no child thought to look.
Along the hall which less and less grew worms
My sweat confessed the staircase was a maze
Where every sky became a clean white glaze
The last I slid on a black and cracking bridge.
One thought on “Ex-Sonnet: Something Beneath the Library”
why the apostrophe in hell’s. I read it first merely as a plural. then as a verb. Then saw the apostrophe and it became genitive–possessive. It could be and probably is suppose to be all three. Love your poems.
LikeLiked by 1 person