The Cauldron

Eye of newt
Hair of toad
Fin of fish
Tooth of shark
Claw of bear
In my back
Crow of rooster
Weak and garbled
Mind of poet
Cluttered.

We wake at the same time
But not together
We don’t communicate.

reptilian brain
Tasting the temperature with flickering tongue
captured flippers floundering
Scrambled in Neural nets
While The Others speak in iambic pentameter
Broca’s center but a twisted stump

Our only common voice,
the language of pain

my limbs do not know another
even after coffee, tea, and sugar
aching tentacles wipe webs from spinnerettes

age seeps in slowly after
decades of warped neurological damage,
“I wish it was Friday.
I wish school was over.
I wish vacation was here.
Winter over.”

And so it is,
I cover brute and beast
Primeval and intuitive
With polyester and silk
Lacquer Avon’s veneer across snake skin and scales
Ascend epoch
and stage
Graze duplicity and growth
Exist one more day
Work one more paycheck
Subsist on a chain of endless evolution

reluctant behind the wheel
my voice slowly my own
by sheer will and shedding

Finally, cataracts glimpse
my grandmother’s hands
emerging from my distant arms
wearily we rest
finally united
My eyes becoming midnight
Together, finally we slumber

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