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Description
Art (c) *Fealoki
Poem (c) *Fealoki
Happy Birthday Ruari.
Pencil and watercolour.
Kajortoq
the fox goes underhill
she lights her fire there
heating stones,
rocks shaped for wounds
irradiated they are
tiny suns in the black earth
passing behind glass
two cylinders cheating collision
I can see the underground cathedrals
from the train window
funnelling vertigo
I know she has a red hot stone
just for me, it’s planted
in the folds of the earth
pulsing invisibly
if I drop down
into the passing chamber
I can meet her, accept
the gift
‘stretch out here, stretch
your legs and even if I hurt you
do not move,’ her eye
is a convex atmosphere
rotating in the golden head
I can’t tell if she’s tricking me
or not, there’s too much
light in her skull to tell
‘if you stir you will die
because I shall not be able
to remove the arrowhead.
it’s the wedge of obsidian
between your heart and lungs,
it’s turning, with the slow orbit
of a black planet,’ her fingers
are narrow and stained with ink
‘don’t move.’ mouth eerily wide
cracking into a muzzle-long smile
under the low damp roof
hot stones cause clouds to form
they bump edges, uncertain
of their own physical properties
Kajortoq takes up the stone and
fits it into my wound, the clouds
turn pink with blood vapour
she pushes it deep in
between my organs
and I, in turn, am pushed
through the ceiling
into a world of lux and lucidity
no more the cauterised humidity
she tricked me
but it was the best trick of all
Poem (c) *Fealoki
Happy Birthday Ruari.
Pencil and watercolour.
Kajortoq
the fox goes underhill
she lights her fire there
heating stones,
rocks shaped for wounds
irradiated they are
tiny suns in the black earth
passing behind glass
two cylinders cheating collision
I can see the underground cathedrals
from the train window
funnelling vertigo
I know she has a red hot stone
just for me, it’s planted
in the folds of the earth
pulsing invisibly
if I drop down
into the passing chamber
I can meet her, accept
the gift
‘stretch out here, stretch
your legs and even if I hurt you
do not move,’ her eye
is a convex atmosphere
rotating in the golden head
I can’t tell if she’s tricking me
or not, there’s too much
light in her skull to tell
‘if you stir you will die
because I shall not be able
to remove the arrowhead.
it’s the wedge of obsidian
between your heart and lungs,
it’s turning, with the slow orbit
of a black planet,’ her fingers
are narrow and stained with ink
‘don’t move.’ mouth eerily wide
cracking into a muzzle-long smile
under the low damp roof
hot stones cause clouds to form
they bump edges, uncertain
of their own physical properties
Kajortoq takes up the stone and
fits it into my wound, the clouds
turn pink with blood vapour
she pushes it deep in
between my organs
and I, in turn, am pushed
through the ceiling
into a world of lux and lucidity
no more the cauterised humidity
she tricked me
but it was the best trick of all
Image size
1653x2404px 865.32 KB
© 2012 - 2024 Fealoki
Comments3
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Oh wow Feoloki, this is amazing! ;U;
I just adore your traditional works<3 the fur looks soft enough to reach out and pet
and now poetry?! You are just too awesome C: It really compliments the artwork well, and vise versa
I just adore your traditional works<3 the fur looks soft enough to reach out and pet
and now poetry?! You are just too awesome C: It really compliments the artwork well, and vise versa