Phosphenes

Why is night your terrain? Your throat
of stars, each

                            a tiny scream of what
              you cannot


                            recall. Your throne


of starved light and the distance,
in darkness, it has


              no choice but


to travel. The line, when there is
                            a line, between dream


and memory: eyes looking up


from a slung-open
casket. A line,


                            •
This is a premium subscription story. Please make a $4 donation to access the individual story or a $50 donation to access all the stories in Narrative Backstage for a period of one year.

If you are already a user, but not yet logged in, you may login here.
If you are new to Narrative, signing up is FREE and easy.