Picking At Stitches With Long Nails

we are all secrets in our worlds
of violet skies and broiling beasts 
we are as we appear to be
to our appeased egos

the truths we manage to force through the veil
are sick   mute   malnourished
blinking like faith's foetus in wounded light
mourn our skull-capped vaccinations

against good lives we flirt destinies 
and savage pearls from poltergeists 
who turns us all into radiators
haunted                  cold to the touch

until we learn to stroll barefoot 
on the hot coals of those lies and secrets
we will never walk unaided on dry land



◄ Popadantsy

Frees tream: once ►


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Stu Buck

Tue 14th May 2019 22:09

agreed. this is exquisite

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keith jeffries

Tue 14th May 2019 17:00

One of your best poems to date. Thanks, Keith

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