These minimalist verses explore the 'friction' of language and the sudden clarity found in neurodivergent perception.
These pieces are the quick-flash sparks of the mind; distilled fragments of clarity, friction, and neurodivergent perception. They are the smallest units of truth, compressed until only the pulse remains.
A crushed jade beetle,
stirred in a tear-filled phial,
saffron smoke ascends.
The iron retort shivers,
Alchemy of naming life.
When the body folds,
the sky begins to fissure,
a crumbling mirage,
penumbra spiraling out,
there the precipice ignites.
The dust tastes of rain
two seasons away, yet she
will turn and walk on;
the old way is a slow, sure
persistent need in the bone.
I swallowed the ash,
my throat a dry, crumbling hole,
and swore on that dirt
I'd make you see what I meant--
Raising the dead is the truth.
The thin brass circle,
cold against the hollow bone.
It won't click open.
The past haunts the hinge's rust,
a face too faded to name.
I scratched through the silt,
feeling for the edge of pain,
the one that hid.
It came back, sharp as a glass,
shattering the day's last shell.
Brandi Lynn is a mythic‑metaphysical artist and writer whose work merges shadow integration, neurodivergent magic, and the sovereign feminine. She creates the three realms of the Sovereign Triad — radiant, feral, and untamed — through pen, ink, and ancient‑inspired verse.
Copyright © 2025-2026 Brandi Lynn
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