Where beneath I wore electric blue

With sweetly rotting blooms
resting on my table,
I drum a tattooed peace
while I pray to my god
who gives me second chances
to twirl in fog
or salute empty hordes
with Emmett Kelley,
sweeping spotlight
into glittery bins.

I clench in private places
when loud engines pass by
and I soothe myself
wondering if beets still hold magic.

Advertisements

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