Flower Of The Flock

I will watch as the candles cry
themselves cold
stare out the oil lamp – until it burns dry.
At the heart of the ridiculous, beats
the sublime.
You loving me just a simple flower
from your flock.

I am addicted to your addictions
in all of their unpalatable truths:
disciplined well in all of your art form.
White suffused with red, a smear by any
other, would simply be pink
Extracting sound bites
the shadows of life fast forwarding
that replay dial – called living.
Far distant on some whitewashed shore
the tide long ebbed
as raindrops rare – a city glows.
I in silence lie about my bed
bleached roots – to anchor
the rawness of this canker.
Last night I did not play with sleep,
I fell into the madness of sharing
what is mine.

Poppy 2013 ~xx~


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