Sensation of Self
by Natalie Ernst
I want to be alone
in between layers of light fragments,
because it is a balmy spring
that spoiled into musky milk and
I can’t memorize
how the moon croaks
without dropping my tears.
Anyways, I staged a mutiny
against popculture, cats, and the cyberyellow mistress.
I named myself the divine feminine
disregarding the idea
of my own forgiveness;
it is hopeless
as I tried to paint the sea with the bellies
of whales and no amount of science
can prove that the water
tendrils won’t choke out my hymn
as I try to grab your attention.
I wish to compress and expand
like a king snake’s jaws; or better yet,
imitate the rosy pink infant rat
coarse with frost and sedative.
I scratch my melon seed
eyes out of the mirror
and rainy days are my asylum from
primary colors and cathedrals.
by Natalie Ernst
I want to be alone
in between layers of light fragments,
because it is a balmy spring
that spoiled into musky milk and
I can’t memorize
how the moon croaks
without dropping my tears.
Anyways, I staged a mutiny
against popculture, cats, and the cyberyellow mistress.
I named myself the divine feminine
disregarding the idea
of my own forgiveness;
it is hopeless
as I tried to paint the sea with the bellies
of whales and no amount of science
can prove that the water
tendrils won’t choke out my hymn
as I try to grab your attention.
I wish to compress and expand
like a king snake’s jaws; or better yet,
imitate the rosy pink infant rat
coarse with frost and sedative.
I scratch my melon seed
eyes out of the mirror
and rainy days are my asylum from
primary colors and cathedrals.