TheFeatheredSleep – Seeking
nobody reads in between the lines
or maybe everyone does
the day she removes her wig and stands
bare skulled for all to see the shroud of mud
her halo, her halo, he is four feet under, he is
not still, neither she, neither we
the ancestors who
fallow the earth, when heaven is closed
from their potential remains, beauty emerges
like a song setting the vibration in your pores
a string instrument without music
pushing back to the day before you
realized you were weeping uncontrolably
as you cycled along overgrown tow path
in search of blackberries, to stain the urge
a badger or a fox would do
something with color and freedom in its movement
take me, take me, I am not content or part
of this stifled world of pretend
I cannot even stitch straight
I see in the glassy eyes of the stuffed, pressed
hotly behind…
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That’s deep! I enjoyed the changing images of Mr. Fox.
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She does do that well with the images.
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