Amoeba Fantasy

Amoeba fantasy, with a single-celled dream

Clinging to her breast is the preserved pulp

Gurgling the lullaby of yesterday.

—Singing her the song of a future

Irises can’t see.

--

Pathetic rocking horse growing the dust

Of the lies it told.

Mother with her sweets, candy words

Father with his false sense of pride

--

Bitter day stumbles backwards into acrid night

Tell the news, the frosted sensation

Oh dear nurturer don’t leave me alone

—Tiny hands reaching for unattainable hope.

Breathing faith, laden with expectation.

--

We covet.

We yearn.

We disappoint.

--

Searching for the milky fog

And the distant cry

That echo through the arid circumference

Of your most deafened state.

(She was never there to call)

--

Lover, whisper the last syllables

Of your amoeba fantasy, with your single-celled dream

Molded into the air, clay and spiritual inhalation

(First and last, alpha and omega)

Warden of frail existence, never vanish.

--

Live in your pallid vanity,

Didn’t you know that porcelain doesn’t breathe?