A poem

Photo by Joyce McCown on Unsplash

My spine is Cannibal:
it eats its own space

when there is no space
remaining a bubble
will wrap itself, travel

& my vertebra will
refugee to somewhere
inconceivable.

That is why I slouch.
My spine Curves
a wormhole —

Rackety, itself an
interstellar train to rail
away without me

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Rowen Veratome

Rowen Veratome

They/them. Perpetual student. Recovering from PTSD. Writes philosophy formally, poetically, playfully, politically, personally, with love, ad infinitum.