release
blackness
welling up inside
me: an inky cloud
surrounding me, from
a squalid creature
in this draining, heavy brine
darkness
making my head pound
choking me - my heart races
as though the wings
of a butterfly, beating
ignorantly against
the hindering walls
of the cold
and empty
jar
in which
it will die . . .
death says
good-bye . . .
K.E.Cline, March 1989