Ripple Effect Rosemary Stevens
I am prehistory; a predator gilded in memory. Flying saucers braille my skin, horns attuned to the moon. Memorial plaques veil the names of the future dead overseeing the space between – semaphores of silence – Arachnid angst lurks in shadows – grows extra legs. I am a corridor of whispers behind the door, the whiskered cat coiled, black, under the lamp, at home on the fringes where your dream is my dream. Kink in the hall. Bow-legged stand wears snake turban, tight-coiled weave of pastel scales. Shades of childhood. A sinister turn unslithers carpet snake. Feel me in your belly. The tip of its tail – bone pale – charms your spine: let go into my lunar rug-scape. 68
