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.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s