Softly in the surge

reach backward
when death was warm
and obstacles slept on floors

new worlds poisoned old worlds
with defeatism as a weapon
angry as a torn figure
slothed in my sunken form

i am not alive
i will sell my children for hallucinations
buried in a lapse
trapped in unearned realities

back and fourth
across a stretch of time
clenching contradictions
in the fist of my heart

wrapped in legs
stranded in a dead body