i'm tired of chasing after deer --
catching my lung on the branches
that hang -- (that lily-white left lung)
and my heart on the barbs
of fences where rabbits tangle.
my fingers stain purple
from black berries and birds,
when the rain won't wash it away
and streams and stones cut the day --
open, oh i wonder
how the winter will cool me
this year. (when the night breaks through --)
and i hope that my blood does not freeze
and congeal on the wounds of love;
i live in fear of - i pray and dream for
that day of longest sleep
where my flesh decays to the earth
of pearly-grey years spent as a child
-- but i wasn't a happy child -- born
under a cloud to curdling milk
and needles and my blue lips
parted in shock.(14/09/2017)
YOU ARE READING
THE OCEAN
Poetry'In the old days at home the Neverland had always begun to look a little dark and threatening by bedtime. Then unexplored patches arose in it and spread, black shadows moved about in them, the roar of the beasts of prey was quite different now, and...