writers – Page 15 – Thistle Thoughts

Motor

Now my mouth doesn’t know what
my shadow is saying.

When I was in the state of erosion —

— things were ok

Why keep ourselves so constricted to something as meaningless as a clock right now?

dawn rises
singing her canticles,
touches the killing fields

I am clinging to
memories of
blue parakeets
lullaby-ing me
to sleep

a verbal knife wound
twisting
every fiber of my being
until I’m
scrubbed raw

…voice the scraping metal
sound of teeth
on a fork,…

Odd half-smiles
and congratulations
are thrown about
like the farewell rice.

A cherita.

Never question
me beneath moonlight,
or in the throes of battle.