Dyslexia

“Bring forth men-children only!” [Macbeth, I.vii]

Speech stammers now.
A galaxy rips into pieces of constellations,
Stars straying about, perforating the floor with
A delirium of fireworks;
Splinters of broken mirrors
Pierce my eyes, peeling off strange patterns.

I see nothing – This is not what I heard –
Did it speak to me, before, this White sky
Collapsed onto a murky plain.
Pages and pages were laid before me.
Crystals that I should have clasped
Safe, are now lost.

It is too dark for me to Read, again.
This ink stares hard at me.
I can feel it, grinning now, as if I
Misunderstood the joke.
I am embarrassed now.
Let me shroud my face with blood.

These slivers prick my fingers –
So much mess on the floor.
Gather it all – let me arrange these fumbling
Phrases into some order.
These shadows clot into darkness.
And my hands smell of stale blood.

27 January, 2008