The World Is Heavy
Her steps are heavy,
each flexing corpuscle a
laborious endeavour, as if
weighted in a rain of iron.
Her heart is heavy,
a molten metal butterfly folded
in the cavity of her chest.
The night is heavy. Obsessing over
phantoms that coalesce in the dark,
memories flailing in the dulled viscera of
rods and cones distorted in the white
light of morning.
The world is heavy, a burden padlocked on
her shoulders, a dress of chains sweeping
like the unfolded fingers of a
monochromatic flower about her thin calves.
But there is an escape.
There are skies open to
the deepest upside-down
caverns of the universe,
skies of scintillating
poly chromatic beauty.
There is happiness in the
world you just have to look.
