Mortal Soil

By Anic Ulrope

Reptilian old soul 

you follow me, like rabbit 

like trick, like another bad habit 

crawl, glowing on the golden brown brick lay

embossed dirt in dermis, not soiled

Walk with you, lapping scales undertow 

like weighted sand over scalded toes 

like coarse bubble bath, like mortal coil 

Halt swift, the breach before the dunes 

near the edge of the sea cliff steadfast

Waves hiss back the sand, foam at the shore 

you walk behind me closely today  

like faceless, candid

like imagination, like mortal soil 

Brazen beyond horizon, flash green shadow

Anic is a free thinker. A reader of obscure fiction. A writer of selfish convictions and harsh truths. When she is not reading or writing, she is selling books and roller skating, simultaneously if possible. Her writing background is a mixture of public-school English literature teachers, journaling, and collecting dreams, visions and thoughts since she was seven years old.

Her poetry holds space for subjects such as but never limited to mental health, sex, femininity, race, and individuality. She is currently exploring African ancestry and the complex consciousness that generates the African diaspora within American society.

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