Table of |
Two Oppressive Flowers
Pull the sky closer,
make it a blanket, a garish cover
to this nightly bed. The stars
will see and receive the punctuation,
the nails beneath. The holes will go
when hung on the line, blood will run
the dawn red as any regular morning.
©C.T.v.M. Echt Waar (full moon justice)
I miss your shadowy embrace,
the silver kiss of your moonlit smile,
pulling me through midnight caverns
and dreamscapes. The silken breath of cotton
sheets, a calming cocoon that haunts
my prayers. I am waiting for you still
with leadened eyes and a lifetime
of sheep that have been counted to death.
A.J. Huffman __
is my mind’s mantra.
I have had enough
of your babble, your trivial
flattery that was never anything
but temporary bandaging at best.
I will dress myself each morning
in concrete. My body will be
a wall of reproach, your aggression
less than a raindrop of useless
to touch, to breach, I will remain
stoic in my reticence. You will find
no arms, no openings
or welcoming mats familiar
with your name.