Annalise Wellman

As I lay here breathing, heavy to my ears I hear, the sirens of crickets in the heavy cotton night. Musty cloth, shaken The dust is stirred. To the beat of my cage, I wonder what the window taints And what I will find behind the blinds, Could it be she? Alas, she’s invisible when…

Your glistening, glinting, maternal face Looks over a midnight, ghost town Full and bright, Porous and light Dusting the ground in silvery powder, Though you may be too far to see, Your reflection on the pond’s crystal dermis, Or your illumination amongst the heavenly spheres, Each night, in awe, each mortal soul stares up at…

I am a Renaissance man, Oh wait, that mustn’t be. I must have different parts to be of that entity. I must never open a book, for that would be heresy. “Don’t try to paint for it will taint your white facade” they scream. Yes, I do a little poetry, I can string some steps…

Despair is a pool so vast and deep, Lined with cold clammy clay. And everything it’s reflection kisses, turns to rain. Drowned like detritus love lays, Hidden like shadows in the dusty haze.

Somewhere ensconced in a cranium, lives an invisible disease Who shows himself to the poor and manifests in the weak. The body is vitiated and riddled with unease.   And yet he holds his kingdom keys, Leaving interane injuries embroidered in an abortive physique, Somewhere ensconced in a cranium, lives an invisible disease.   Enlisted…

I have a question that seems profound. I’ll think about it as I look around, And ponder it a bit without a sound… The answer I think I’ve found, I write it out on my sleeve now: I don’t fit in around here. Eighty people divided into forty groups of two, while I sit here…