©Valentina Cano
Chasing a name, I lost my way.
I found myself in a nest
of slithering sounds,
all teeth and glittering tails,
all ready to peel my skin back.
The walls were made of days
sewn from waiting,
from hard-backed chairs
and dirty windows.
The floor is a collection of
dropped music, carpets of notes.
Chasing a name,
chasing his name,
I woke to a day at half mast
shadows crowded all around me.
Their dark knives ringing
out one screeching
simple pitch.
Valentina Cano is a student of classical singing who spends whatever free time either writing or reading. She was born in 1985. Her works have appeared in Exercise Bowler, Blinking Cursor, Theory Train, Magnolia’s Press, Cartier Street Press, Berg Gasse 19, Precious Metals and will appear in the upcoming editions A Handful of Dust, The Scarlet Sound, The Adroit Journal, Perceptions Literary Magazine, Welcome to Wherever, The Corner Club Press, Death Rattle, Danse Macabre, Subliminal Interiors, Generations Literary Journal, Super Poetry Highway, Stream Press, Stone Telling, Popshot and Perhaps I’m Wrong About the World. You can find her here: http://coldbloodedlives.blogspot.com
