beneath blue-black night sky
smear-sprinkle of stars
fermata'd moon
cradled in an Egypto-set of horns
beneath there fully lit
Venus ( Picasso'd
with nude &n' nun shapes...)
observing her nails
tap-waltzes atop a gravestone
over a place of sod
&n' sag green beyond which
on a rail fence sits
an eye-scratching crow
beneath which (slant up-
right) rests a brier-rose mask
empty-eyed lips parted (death, passion (u-pick...)
strings frayed &n'
drooping rootishly
surround sound wake -
arrow being shot
hone of sword (shedding
an echous mix of sparks &n' fireflies...)
anguish't wailing
of a female voice
single tweet of a reader pick't bird
foilous undulation
drying-out the canvass't (
About the Creator
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The Price I Pay
Here is a link to Randy Baker's Challenge: Prompted #4 *** Joseph It smells like desperation. Actually, it smells like bleach trying to hide the smell of urine, death, and desperation permanented into the studs of my new home. Even as the perky redhead in scrubs pushes me around in my wheelchair, blathering on about the different rooms and the schedule for the week, I can see a man pouring bleach in a bucket, preparing yet another attempt to mask the bits of horrid smell still peeking through.
By Alexandria Stanwyck7 days ago in Fiction
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