she stands under the corpse-grey sky
her heart insubstantial, nothing but
an illusion cast by her mind, the light
playing with her again.
she is the bone in the rabid dog’s mouth,
shaken, hair in her eyes, silk stitching
her mouth shut, ears closed against the horns.
none of it penetrates, none of it is real
least of all dying.
This is the first of ten or so poems I want to write for my fictional projects this NaPoWriMo. If you’re interested, let me know, I can point you towards more of my writing.