'cliff painting' blinding reflections of jet light off an obsidian cliff silhuoette my emaciated form dripping rivulets of blood from my nailed wrists i stand jailed on a black ledge measurelessly high measurelessly low this is my view: sun horizon haze now, a black mist begins to eclipse the sun the air is opaquing, painting itself gashes of yellow rip through the darkness orange and vermillion tendrils thrash like seaweed in a riptide lightning traced in crimson leap from land to sky the grey-blue land and the steel-blue sky are annihilated hideously beautiful a thousand serpents' flickering tongues slowly turning my head slowly watching ripples pulse outward in ridges of oil paint the storm is alive i could touch it shape it but my hands - and so it is tentacled and voracious limitless and approaching i stare into the tempest's black heart as the storm solidifies i cannot breathe anymore the storm is varnished i cannot breathe anymore the storm is hung what do the nails support now? my view is a painting sold at an auction for three dollars hidden in an attic my body is a pair of dismembered hands slowly rotting away slowly teetering back and forth like tongueless wind chimes |