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Fireworks burst in my mouth.

Bright lights leak from between my teeth,

and my lips are cracked with liquid rubies spilling from their torn scabs.

By moon fall I escaped the talons of wild beasts; slipped through their cages of ribs.

At sun drop I arrived by way of a poached lion — stowed away inside its womb.

Through its wound I fell,

onto the shore where shepherds herd their flock into dreams,

coated in red wet rocks.

Shrouded with my lion’s pelt I crawled,

and shed it when my limbs grew bones.

I’ve left a trail ‘cross the sand,

but waves worked quick to wash it away —

collecting traces of me at the bottom of the ocean.

My fingertips quake with lightning.

The earth pulses with each step I take.

My weight greater than the gods of men,

and deities before them.

I am not made for this place.

I was sewn with threads of neon and mercury.

Through the brush and into the sharp-toothed,

gnawing,

Cottonwood,

I hide.

My fine stitching is coming undone.

Sparks shoot out as I clench my teeth.

Fire spills from my freshly ripped flesh,

catching onto trees,

clinging to the veins of their leaves.

I’m a child of the wild.

I bring the forest down.

Skies crumble when I howl.

My scream sends shivers through the stars.

And yet my feet are driven further under ground.

Ash drops in clumps of snow.

Unhinged stars fall into the unmasked forest of ashen spikes.

I am surrounded by corpses.

I gag on the flavor of stardust streaked across my tongue.

The shore is far away and you are here.

I see you when the forest crumbles —

hollowed out of all your lightning and thunder.

Fireflies cast a halo ’round your head,

and fly through your dim fingers.

You watch me,

but I catch the ones in flight.

Swarms of sparrows dart in formations of arrows at your feet.

Bones and feathers scatter in patterns on the ground before you.

There is nothing and everything between us.

Once the tarantula hawks fly from your eyes,

your head is a coyote’s skull, and scorpions nest in your

sockets.

This is where we part.

Can’t you see?

I’m a figment of your dreams —

The jolt that flirts with the steady rhythm of your heart.

I am hungry.

I want to devour the world alive,

Feel what it’s like in my insides.

*****

Flannery Spring-Robinson currently resides in Brooklyn, NY. She is the executive chef and partner of a cafe in Crown Heights. In her spare hours, she explores, escapes, creates, and spends hours with those who lead life styles different from hers’. She is a drifter with forgiving roots — experimenting cohabitation with the hidden and the sun-stained. Occasionally she visits the Russian Baths on the LES, but has yet to try the oak leaves.