Brim

Anticipation is sizzling and crackling

every day, it builds and builds.

The minutiae of life is condensed inside me

and every sound, every move, every rotation of molecules 

terminates inside me.

I absorb with acceptance

the sorrows of this world.

Its despair becomes mine and like moist earth 

I swallow its sadness, black and colossal. 

I cannot adjust and transform. 

Dark and rotten is my call and

the dead smirk

and indefatigably watch me.

I hear their raucous laugh

sharp, it soothes me.

  The silence annihilates each year

as I wither and fade. 

I know that one day,

I will explode and the world will pour out, rusty and immutable. 

They said

I should shutter and survive

like they do.

Do not feel, they said, do not look

Do not tend, do not watch

Do not treasure. 

But I cannot.

Visceral roots pervade my body and command my every fear 

my every desire.

And so I cling to the moon and watch them all live 

as nothing will ever assuage my heart but the

brute phantoms who slither inside fitfully.