EYEGLASS SKY

I am no stranger than the next person yet, I am far more flawed that the last. I experience no more, no less than any one of you; it is but a quarrel of proportions.

My sky is a lens that magnifies every moment into a monster; distortion thuds through my tongue and chokes the light into shards that bloody my sack-stitched mouth.

You only see the surface. Your view is the millpond that mirrors my eyeglass sky whilst I hide in plain sight, drowning beneath the unbroken surface.

This is about me.
It is not about you.
It is all about the dead-weight of me.
Me, myself and my eyeglass sky.

© Mel Lampro

ONE SECOND

Once apart from time there exists a second where nothing happens. Between every breath of life that begins, struggles and ends there endures one second of stillness that is darker than the farthest shadow of any conceivable star. It is younger than the universe but older than the ocean floor; quieter than a vacuum and more potent than blood. In that second where nothing happens there is no clock to be paused and no action to suspend. There is no wait, no before or after, no anticipation nor regret. Just one second, where nothing happens. A tic in time, the most valuable void, the vessel of my salvation and I am damned to an eternity of its protection because, I will never see the end.

© Mel Lampro

OLD FORK

When I say that my heart hurts, I do not mean the stabbing, searing pain of injury; it aches in the way that hunger ravages the pit of the stomach. I can taste the emptiness in my mouth; sour and tainted, like the prongs of an old fork. My heart feels hollow, vacant; my heart is starving and I am fearful that if I open my mouth it will leap out and consume the world.

© Mel Lampro

CONCAVE

I’m an artist, a dreamer, a drifter, a slave
To the pressures that squeeze me until I’m concave
Like a mirror that flexes away from the light and
Only observes what is written at night.
I speak the language of whomever is nearest
My chameleon tongue chides the hearts that are dearest and
Closest to me yet, I cannot feel love.
It’s the stranger who weeps by my grave, my dove
It’s the stranger who weeps by my grave.

© Mel Lampro

THE MOON

i saw the moon

tonight

a crescent sliver

silver

split

hanging

from the rent cloth

of the sky


Wherever You Roam Covre

Previously Published:

Wherever You Roam: Volume 2 (Slim Volume)

Edited by: Kate Garrett

Available from Amazon


© Mel Lampro

SCORPION

bane-ripe

this

glistening

blistering

pomegranate

swelling heavy

on it’s burdened stalk

 

pregnant

 

eclipsed in span-shadow

an arachnid

distracted

 

by the majesty of flight

 

ambles on again

perfectly

out of proportion

© Mel Lampro / Previously published: Route 57, University of Sheffield Online Arts Magazine [2006].

ASSASSIN

a

tiny

pink

quiver

of

life

 

clings

onto it’s sanctuary

as the sleeper

seals it’s destiny

with

every

heavy

breath

 

nosferatu

drains

it’s essence

it’s existence

denying any claim

on identity

on equity

 

assassin

© Mel Lampro / Previously published: Route 57, University of Sheffield Online Arts Magazine [2006].