JORDAN RAMPULLA

 Becoming Another

A silence, blank and seething.

Violent whites of a horse’s eyes gleam,

Its hooves beating into the soft earth,

As your pale, unsandled feet take root.

I eat the fruit that makes my mouth itch,

Because maybe it will reach The Thing 

In the hollow of my stomach.

I became Some Sort of Machine,

but didn’t make the right kind of mistakes.

So they drained my batteries and let me corrode in unoiled stirring.

Maybe next time, I’ll get to be the beast.

Surrender to the Dark Thudding Thing,

Thinly veiled, in secret. 

We have different ideas of love.

There isn’t beauty in this sadness,

Just rot.