in conversation with a psychic

take heed, she said,

for your heart is as empty as a cavern

drop a pebble and hear

the vast silence that rumbles

like a ravenous beast

from its mouth

envelopes your frivolity

spits you out

tarred and feathered

and naked

hear the drip drip of you mind

chip away at your soul, she said,

like Chinese water torture

boring tunnels in your aorta

feel the blood flood your chest cavity

there is no legroom left

for love to shoot its stems

no soil to give root

only sharp starched stalactites

deflate fragile fondness

let time tick its notches

in the cavern’s walls

with your fingernails

leave crimson streaks

on jagged rock

turned to sediment

let it settle in your spirit

a sandbox in which she’ll play

for now let your tears

pool and erode to pebbles

yes, she said, lichen lives in your chasm

it loves the darkness of your gospel

it blooms in the gloom of your mind

lichen cannot be picked, she said,

best to wait to open your gate

let the sun shine in to dry

flake the lichen brush it away

its bitter smoldering smell

will waft into the stars

of some unfortunate soul

how long must I wait, I asked,

a natural question

even a cavern never filled

yearns for that fate

before it’s too late

before the Earth’s devoured:

gaping chasms, prideful mountains,

lecherous lichen, velvet skies

all rendered moot

by entropy’s advance

I cannot say, she said,

but you will know

just as you know an in-breath

just as you know a blade’s removal

from the small of your back

the rich tapestry of your cave

will gulp luminescence

she will frolic in your sand

spelunk into your depths

climb your stalactites

Photo by Alex Simand

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Alex is a Creative Writing MFA student at Antioch Universtiy Los Angeles and a Canadian expat living in San Francisco.  He writes nonfiction, fiction, and poetry.  He sometimes shares his musings and meanderings on his blog.