by Samantha Moore

Evolution demands the shucking of my husk
For what (liberty) have I to incant lofty
from within false glow and click?
Lusty and alive
  golden sunlight on raw plasm
feels foreign yet comforting
like unfamiliar consonant combinations
sounding on my tongue,
  reverberating at the back of my throat —
The Unknown
foggily remembered like an old friend,
  casualty of traumatic disassociation
Brought back again now,
Bearing Love

Journal, Volume 2 Issue 3