Rorschach Poem by Amber Toohey

You do not know,
nor love the chalky crevices and dark knotholes of my cenotaphic soul,
coral polyp dissolved
beneath the drying bath of this polygamist sun-god;

a lone calcareous skeleton propped
in a corner,
spidersilked against crickety planks too far indoors to suckle dew.

And what of the cockroach-egg infested envelope glue,
imbedded on the underbelly
of my tongue,

waiting to hatch while sleeping
soft on the needles of refugees?

It's in the eye of the poppy seed.
In the sightless bell jar full of melting stones.
It tarries,
and holds me, overdue.