I don’t really have a title for this…

Does “sunflower tunnel” count? Because that’s what I have this saved as on my computer.

He walks through life
in a tunnel of sunflowers.
Twenty-million golden razors
glitter their eyes from the depths
of that long hall. Fear
of them, their high cheekbones
sloping toward a wicked mouth —
the unseen end —
is a self-contained twister,
the winds of which dizzy the throat,
seeping like tea leaves in hot water
to chill a bulbous spine.
The tempestuous breeze
startles the never-opened books housed
in the body’s library. Their backs
never forget the sensation,
anticipate it everywhere.
Down those long empty corridors,
the air is thick as blood,
hot like a small fire gnawing at the ankles
of the tallest shelves.
Yellow forsythia dangle
from the follicles of his wild hair,
tangle and shear against
the blades of eyes set in arduous
lines, heavy with curiosity.

I haven’t posted in a while, and I felt like putting something up, so if this kinda sucks … sorry?


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