• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 03

Anthropogenic Addiction

She rolls up the world
as though it is just for her,
sucks in flossy clouds,
breathes out fumy hues;
they fall grey as old veils.

She drinks the sky,
gargles on blue,
tastes the sherbet of mountain tops.
Thin glaciers plate her tongue
and quickly melt against the roof of her mouth.

She skims the seafoam with soft lips,
spews bloated fish
and whale ribs like unplayed harps,
gags on slimy nets,
is throttled by plastic tentacles.

In a long, slow pull, she draws what’s left.
Fires blackens her throat
and a dark confetti of moths
swarm her velvet lungs.
She coughs out ash
shaped like forests, life, hope –
and it sticks to everything.

Once she has imbibed the colours,
she longs to be infused by them again;
but they are lost forever
and she, too, begins to fade.