Stinker

This is a poem about power and territorialism


I saw it so clearly.

The tracing of your hands upon the air,

You made zigga-zagga movements

And who would know that this your

Your way.

The traveller’s way to carve a rune

Into the flesh of the future?

You recast the air itself

As you always did when you felt

Your places closest to the fire was

Threatened…. A swish and a swash and you

Sprouted angels’ wings and breathed a

stinking innocence upon us all, even those

You love. Lightning quick, your rune took

Hold. And holds us all. In vicious thrall.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s