Knitting A Ghost-Thing:

by RD Kimball


she opens her eyes and discovers a room

plain cold jellyfish entrails
plasma phantasms which whisper
white whisperings

she stiffens her skin
at the touch of phantom limbs:
for she is due to make things
from the dead

doors open from every corner of her mind-
the room an infinite polygon

stretches one side and another
and over and over
walls folded in on themselves

doors open from every corner
and welcome the beastials

she opens her eyes when they touch her
and everything is violet,
they beckon her to follow them
into the many formless rooms
from which they spawn their spawnings-

they call her a weaver

colors close their wombs around her
and in her sirensong the fading fades
across the pallor of her lips her skin
her eyes her hands

there is nothing but the ghostly thing
she knits
and gasping exhale violet mist:
she laughs her laugh in the between-place.

she opens her eyes and discovers a room
the infinite room
with the infinite beasts

and her outer world fades...
becoming a rumorghoul.
becoming an unviolet.