Formaldehyde night –
the remains of etherized evening
that didn't make it out alive.
Its pickled eyes –
its bricked, blank gaze
of darkened apartment windows.
Dead snow fluttering
in a snow globe.
My skin shaken, not stirred
by the gin-cold wind.
What miracle will vibrate me
like a break-glass cello?
Not high notes to shatter,
but low – thrombosis low
music like an absence
So the vessel implodes –
releases my cadaver
back into the wild.
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qbit 
“Music like an absence”– I love that. I love the title as well, in view of the final line. February blues, anyone?
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Hey, thanks. Yep cold, dark out there. Our bodies on marble slabs at the morgue.
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I love music like an absence, too – and releasing the cadaver back into the wild – as I hope mine will be. Smiles.
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You and me both!
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Kissing the cold darkness that shakes the skin is a Sleeping Beauty transformation here, but what/who does one wake up to? We are drowning in a sea of pickled eyes and imploding forces, and I am there with you begging to be released back into the wild. I especially love the first two mood-setting stanzas with their vivid metaphors. Totally my kind of poem, qbit. You aced the list.
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Thanks. I 100% was thinking “Ah, HW is going to like this one…”
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Goodness me! Something very David Lynch about this! Enjoyed this, qbit, especially that first stanza – you had me straight away with “formaldehyde night.”
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Hahaha! Thanks.
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This gives me chills. Really visceral imagery!
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“Formaldehyde night” and “My skin shaken, not stirred” and that final stanza. Excellent.
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Thank you!;
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This struck me as a poem of utter emotional fragility, R. Superb imagery.
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