The Architecture of A Ghost
There is a riot behind my teeth,
A jagged thing of salt and glass
That claws the lining of my throat
But cannot find the breath to pass.
It is a pressure in the jaw,
The tectonic shift of unsaid things,
A heavy, hollow, rusted weight
That to the marrow tightly clings.
I am a cathedral built of stone,
Holding a storm within the nave;
The silence isn't peace at all—
It is the tension of the grave.
No sound escapes the iron lip,
No tremor breaks the steady eye,
But deep within the ribcage walls,
I am a long and silver cry.
B