Unsafe, in
safety’s net: the wrath of spit stuck
Deep in the
throat by a broken promise spent
Elegant red
curls, pooled by blue and white
Prophecy
strode along the side like a terror.
Snakes
hither and twist the lobes of frank longing
To be
believed but believed be not – festering from
The
nostalgic bend of splintered arrows and rust?
Nestled on
the floor of burnt offerings and peace keys.
A shudder
in the temple torments her like tears,
Awash in
the lesser wills of man, concubine of kings
Now dead as
further.
Further dreams come and go,
So much
worry in the ways of the night in flames,
Two boys
dead in the memory of her lank futility
Scrubbed by
indifference until even glowing white.