Pendulum

there's light beaming from within,
where the little thumped.
but today there's fog,
a morning of black tea and bruised pears.

little kindness
where a man spits on the street
and the reaction, unusually,
tames the green light with disgust.

from what inside this feeling trembles?
weeping humid,
blanched in vinegar and sun.
the teabag gathers maternal molecules
and specs of worried dust.
the feeling is above the womb,
the chest constricts and bosoms swell,
like a wave i wanna curl into
and be carried away with.

chords are spinning into autumn,
falling before fall.
the trees are not what i need.
i don't need oxygen; i need air.
salty, salty
air.

craving the wave
and not to be saved,
i don't need saving.
it's others then and under
pressure. this hot air balloon heart.
i'm dangling from a basket of woven hair.
i'm swallowing the poison without it
even being fermented.


e. chayes