once again Candice builds a great picture thru her poetry. M

TheFeatheredSleep

Is it an astigmatism or

The blur of a questioning heart

When things are disordered, the very edge

Clutching bitten sides as hollow city dwellers

Imagine faces looking downward into fast moving water, seeing drowned doves

A predilection for extremes

Where daughters cut their ropy hair

And open like heart chakras beneath festive lighting in department stores

Accents donating starry landscape above

Informing choices as snowbound relatives learning to talk over cold soup

Girls in A-line skirts, boys hiding erections behind glossy schoolbooks

And the heat of asfalt, curling like collars made of beaver

High gloves, no verbs, learning how to dye mouths like hair

Standing on unstable chairs, wobbling with frail grace

Where is moral nerve? Where negotiation?

Responsibility for one’s life, defines self respect into a set of bronze rings hung from pinched hips

Whatsoever the plan, pinned to walls to hide the cracks

Tension strung like artificial…

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