Flowers are a Tiresome Pastime

I am the sound of rain on the roof

fingernails teasing your neck

the way fresh grief undoes you

the moment you’re fully awake.

 

I am The Midnight Wolf, gazing

at the Blood Moon

In a forest I am just shadow and bare wood;

Time-worn wooden flesh, leave me be.

I have wiped out the red night and lit a blaze

 

You wish you could take the bird outside

and set it free

that is false as a drunk’s promise

to loan you his car next week.

You will not let him in. He would keep you from sleeping.

 

A black fungus springs out about the lonely church doors—

the set pieces

of your faces stir me—

Lately your eyes have shut

down to a shade more durable than skin’s

You are the beautiful half
Of a golden hurt.

I am an animal. Do not come anymore.

*** poem inspired by the song “Civilian” by Wye Oak. This is a found poem, some lines do not belong to me.***

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