THIS IS A POEM ABOUT OBSIDIAN AND CONFLAGRATIONS AND DAGGERS 12.6.17

12.6.17

 

we were a dreamlike thing

crafted in obsidian

brandished at the sun

conflagrant inside with

systems

of

forbidden

lovelessness

she’s lucky, you said, her 

mother has no tongue left

to speak with, while ours

daggers you with her open mouth. 

 



Written at 9:13 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA. 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s