Although there are ways of looking at a snake
without fragmenting,

oft our own eyes undo us. If.
Hallucinations slithered

& hung like mobiles in the air. Came
in the form of dreams akimbo

as fractured wrists. A garden
left to its own device

(which reverts back into the rich
slime of dark vegetal hours).

I was enslaved as the light of
a colossal imagination

but whose? I
wracked my coldmind

for a clear word for fear
of what is seen, unseen.

All that.
You could touch me

& not reach me. Something else moved
in the grass. Unfinished, & stoned

out of my brain on medicine, an acrolith
both hatch- & receding in deep

relief, instead of the tomatoes
I watered my feet.

Sunk like ruins or an obelisk ever-
so, infinitesimal, into earth.

Who was I


Flower Conroy

Valerie Roybal, Transmutation 3 (collage)