Brittany Cagle — The Monarch Review
Bustle – Brittany Cagle
Thursday, February 12, 2015 10:01 — 0 Comments
Old age is flesh close to the bone, the shrunk spine, bruises spidering and eyes cupped by purple crescents. A flight of bees swarm deep in the chest, dark, disturbed, restless— but what? The tongue cannot filter words out of the buzzing and begins to braid itself.
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What am I?
Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies
Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,
Consequence;
Scientists can't find me.
Januswise I make us men;
Glamour
Was my image then—
Remind me:
The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…
Tick, Tock: Divine me.
-- Richard Kenney
