lily hills white

une anaphore ou la manifestation

beware, some of these poems are tethers,
leg irons and shackles,
the thing with feathers,
tunes that will coo you to the river styx.

beware, i’m bleeding
in my own use of anaphoras,
i’m waxing and waning,
tell me please,

is this morning or mourning?

am i fluttering wings or am i free falling?

beware, of caged jays with dreams to fly,
and temptresses with gallant cheeks that shine
of vermillon poppies
on death’s dense meadow.

beware, i’m the creature,
and caging me
was only tempting me
to flight.