Poetry Blogs (Mundanity)
Woken in a dream, still dreaming.
The storyteller stands in the hidden doorway,
slowly turning he leads and descends,
to where canals on fire flow slick with oil.
Metal muzzles twist,
grotesque against a dead dog sky.
Muddied barrels frayed by blast,
opened in full bloom.
Disembodied heads, still veiled,
their black holed mouths un-screaming.
Monday 17th October 2016 2:35 pm