Archive 07/15/11

 

   

Seeing Red

                                                                  

I awaken from my bedsheets

(Burlap croker sacks riddled with holes,

To let my dreams' hissing cobras slither free,

Out and back, as their wills dictate),

Crawl, naked, to the window, lift its shade,

Just in time to catch a gaze-glimpse

Of the blazing sun — molten iron ore

Bubbling in the sky's cauldron —

Before it pours its heat into my eyes' mold

And I, a gored, fulminating bull,

See death's red harden into a severed head.

 

 

 

 

07/15/11

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 

  
   
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