A poem by GEORGIE HURST.

 

 

Sleep, pretty sleep that falls,

drifts from my eyes into

a warm lake of

alkahest,

 

an intrusion to the brain, the same

wide access through which

the solvent seeps in,

dissolves

 

me. I am supine, passive to it. Do not

find me in the grounds, or in the alley,

or in the places you once knew

me.

 

Find me here, churning my thoughts

as they mutate into pulp and acid.

Nigredo, my mind, Albedo, my

skin,

 

Citrinitas, my hair, Rubedo, my

love. In bed I can hear the

process persisting, red

hot

 

irons goring into my skin. Manganese

here I am. Submerged and aching

for it—caress me, make me

perfect.