By: Jade Mogavero
At dusk, I went aboard the crystalline train
Carts filled with stragglers—
Impatient and brusque.
Chatter would rise within the air,
Then often waned.
Carts filled with stragglers that held no possessions,
Their skulls white and frail,
Coated with strips of dry skin—
They peeled off and pieced together their masks many moons before,
I pondered if they detect mine growing thin.
The bewitching hour was the commencement of our feast
Clouds of white mice were where we began dwelling,
Escorted with rocks and grain—silky and pure,
As we sunk in our teeth.
Brewing beasts in the shells of the souls we were selling.
We swore we were immortal,
Felt our souls gravitate to a parallel dimension—
Left earth and slipped into the portal,
Endlessly floating through our spiritual extension,
Lost track of time,
Lost track of motion.
We opened our souls to ghosts and devotions
Fell for the devil’s notions
Slit gills in our throats—
Swam across oceans
Toasted the potions,
We believed we would fly,
But we drowned in the opus.
We kept our truths close
And our fallacies closest
As we captured the moments
We had no idea what we had done
Once all the siren’s songs were sung
We scraped the resin from our lungs