Flutter child
So we let the vampires drain us into submission… Until we have no power to fight anymore Let them conquer our mycorrhizal networks, where special hearts and minds once helped us see beyond the abandoned treasure chest… Until our melancholy becomes desperately soothing like cocaine to a cancer Until we no longer speak it; just assume it - this feeling… We’ll stay half awake, but no more than this in-betweenness - Live just about comfortable enough lives where we can breed love through our offspring, as if it’s only an offering, an inkling rather than a way of being… So we’ll sit with our knives: focused, hearts heavy and ticking As if the only way to protect our children from the lie of the dim light that once flickered from the door is to kill the moth that made it and will one day come back searching… That knife’s easier to use than letting that child leave that room of shadowed walls; to test this world devoid of fear, linking wings with a fast expanding fluttering…