Month: January 2015

Magic

Slain,
they say Jesus turned
blood into wine,
but all I see is
more blood.

It drips from
emboldened tip,
pooling silver en
pointe
 a star.

Uncontrolled blue, the sky billows,
wrapped around your
Self and

cling like an autonomous vine
to a soured sweet face.

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a child’s first funeral (or pet cemetery)

Fred died
and then Mommy cried
for heaven.

Grandma Helen
rests in our backyard

a crib of fleas
and the color red

wagging tails paint
a child’s first funeral

and their makeshift
tombstones of brick
and mortar
briar.