Lurch forward
putrid breath hot on the slick of my neck
Rumor has it— if you peer into its one gunky eye for
more than eight seconds
Disillusionment will strike fangs to the jugular before you can bat a lash
(the veil lifts
again
and again
And)
Come dawn
every. morning.
there are horrors anew.
In the same palette where 108 shades of ruby
Intimate the intimate journey of life receding from the aorta
I see only amaryllis and mums bubbling forth
loud and
very much alive
A whole field of them waving their bright bulbous arms
At the homicide, the herbicide and the other side alike
In spite of that which seeks to sap succor from the sinews
They wave,
(Again
And again)
Smiling even,
In warm welcome
of all who defy what is seen for what is really there.
1 Timothy 6:19
