direct the chorus
ring the bells
between cotton-candy words
laid upon melting shoulders
while angels reap rewards
and children play
upon drifting clouds
in make-believe worlds
waves spray rain
drowned whale eclipses
the sun’s smile
Church is Poetry. Poetry is Life. A life well lived.
Three Days in the Woods (heave), Morgantown IN
Only my books anoint me, and a few friends, those who reach into my veins. -Anne Sexton
This Anne. She knew what she was talking about. Crowds? Who needs them.
Lost souls peer into mine, but i tremble in fear. What do they do when i speak? Turn into strangers.
I don’t move. I wait, wondering if they will return? All the lonely hearts disappear from sight.
I opened my mouth and said all the wrong things. Their ears stung. Ice clung to their clothes. They didn’t know how to help me.
in between its feet
lies a sacrificial feast
boorish bait eater