by Malachy Moran
so promise me that when
I die, you’ll bury me with seeds in all my
pockets
seeds in all my pockets
I dreamt that I sat in the garden
still atop the soil, for an eon,
moving not an inch as flowers grew
into my skin and wound their way
with root and vine around my spinal column
feeding on the rotting contents of my brain
turning fears and apprehension into
compost, sprouting blossoms from my ears
and dripping teardrop leaves from empty
sockets,
somewhere deep within, my heart, now green,
still beat with vibrant energy to pump the
nectar in my arteries around my body till
I was but sweetness
upon awakening, I was dismayed to find
that I was still alive, so promise me that when
I die, you’ll bury me with seeds in all my
pockets
keep myself together
I cannot keep myself together,
running like a liquid towards
the lowest ground, soaking into
porous surfaces and collecting
in sumps and basins, draining
out through tiny holes in this
fragile body, pinpricks
in my heart, my lungs
my tongue, my throat, and even
in my liver, drips and splashes
on the concrete show the places
I have been a trail of hopes, slick
and rainbow on the pavement
flowing towards the sewers,
mixed with rainwater and
half-smoked cigarettes,
regrets in puddles, memories
of days with better weather
but the truth is I could never
keep myself together
© Malachy Moran
Malachy Moran is an American expat currently residing in Norway. A PTSD survivor and recovering drug addict, Malachy has lived too many lives already to believe in reincarnation. Hopefully this is it. You can find his work in the Anti-Heroin Chic, Academy of Heart and Mind, the Corvus Review and others.
Follow his journey on Threads @malformed_poetry, or Bluesky @malformed-poetry.
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The Amazine Community 
Love the poem. The way it is written helps you visualize and feel it not just read it.
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