The Fantastic Toes


 (words by Tony Rasmussen)

Dusty dreams, regrets renewed,

silk worm knots of worried thoughts.


Things we should be never will,

crowd my head, things unsaid.


And there’s a hole in the floor,

a pearl in the undertow,

only to rise when sleep fills my eyes.


Doom suspends a golden wire,

give some slack and take some back.


Warp and weft of who we are,

stained in red with skins we’ve shed.


And there’s a hole in the floor,

a glow in the ossuary,

phosphorus green where earth meets the stone.


A vessel to hold,

the bones of the long departed,

bore in the stone, a place for myself.


Pulse lightly,

thumb pluck the tine,

stir the night air.


Pull back your bow,

feel the poised

press of nothing.


I’m lying awake just sucking air,

a buckling weight I cannot bear,

I’ll wait for the cool collapse to find me,

me and no one else.


Sacred space,

leave no trace,

enfold into myself.