Something that decides

how long I wait while displacing my balance on folded knees, collapsed thighs, on my feet

pacing and swaying with ancient muscle memories as the dancers at the other end of the hall move in and out of walls of revelers like haunters lingering on chilled air held in whirlwinds of

Something that decides

where my self is projected from my anonymous body to the clay where I carve familiar from ambiguity. The ripening mortal pulp falls to the floor and what I am ferments in sweat salt as a new vase to hold my essence is baked inside the furnace of

Something that decides

where and how to look for maternal faces like reading secret signs in shadow languages formed in light and fog, while I crawl from the warm pit with undercooked limbs for the world to imprint and artists to tear their signature into. Then, startled by the markings of

Something that decides

If I can shatter trickster mirrors painted by my aging self. If I can follow echoes to true streams or find myself before the dead walls of my silent screaming. I am running out of tributaries and I crave the salt in the oceans of

Something that decides.

 

Now on his final year as a student at Aims Community College. Active member of Creative Writing Club and Aims English Honor Society. Enjoys writing poetry and fiction. Lifelong reader, writer, and student.