SPOTLIGHT: FEVER DREAMS IN A PORCELAIN SKULL: HUM by Joseph Cassis; w/ art by Michel LaFontaine

amazon.com/dp/B09NGVLN75



1)

I look in the mirror
bloodshot sunken eyes
the curse of feeling weakened
by my own mind
but it also exists on the exterior
in dark bags and lies
pathetic excuses
doled out in lines

it’s been days.

I’m a living fever
dream of
emptiness, and
love.

a soul of dirt
waiting for seeds
to turn into flowers, but
nothing grows
when your nights
Are all 48 hours,
and the sun
is a myth.






2)

I know I’m
still alive,
even when
this feels like
a terrible afterlife.

keeled over
I throw up,
wipe my mouth,

stand to my feet, and a blur

chokes me…

I pass the fuck out.

my head smashes porcelain doom
blood hits the floor

of – fucking – course

I hallucinate…
                    my place beyond the grey.




3)

I imagine a cabin
in the woods
with my cat, and a dog
paws, paws, paws
– pause –
she enters striding, like

lightning
across my heart.

I’m happy

thread/glimmer/shred
of destiny, gleaming
in my concussive, yet
beautiful light-mare
punch-drunk fever dream
of things I’ll always hope
could be.

I’m happy

she paints
I sing
we love it
it’s wholehearted


we drink
we fuck

it’s perfect
I’m so lost in it

we’re happy
we’re in love
we have everything
we’ve ever
wanted.




4)

then I…
roll on my back.
I’m pulled in silence by
the smell dew, and
the sight of foggy mountain tops.
basking in the light
of the moon, hung
so brightly
just for me…

and
my gut turns softly, like

I’m almost not supposed to feel
something…
there…
burrowing…
in my belly.

an uneasiness
seeking to work
in the shadows.
sweet and askew
while the moon
begins to move
like tar and glass.




5)

is this
a beautiful scenery
to eyes
too empty to fill?

of course, I

must be dead now.
this could never feel
like it would be real
outside of the sweat
on my brow, but
I guess I can
rest with that
somehow.

at least, I know
I’d really fucking love to.

I return
to the glow
of my beau

or at least I’d thought so…




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