Marble Chaos

Editor's Note: This piece was created during a Citizen-inspired writing session at this summer's Shade exhibit at the Clyfford Still and Denver Art Museums. 

By Ahja Fox

The flames are made up

of charred flaking skin,

a thick viscosity of oil slick nature.

 

He calls to his brother,

waking the opulent pearl ghost

who crawls from the popcorn

ceilings down in between the toes.

 

He calls to his brother,

Snapping the bones of the monster

who bears scars of lightning. Some

healed to reflect the middle brown,

some fresh, bleeding god’s wrath

or infected daffodil.

 

He calls the scabs of bluish-bruised

paper scattered all over the tobacco

streets, calls them back

to their mother’s aching breasts,

the original tree of life, to feed

unworn and unwritten.

 

Within the frames, he calls to his

brother, severing an arm

and maybe one too many limbs.