With a face on you’d suffocate yourself
Screaming like harmonica skeletons
Silver like scowling moons
On Earth a god pulls your hair
And a man hanged from a yew tree
Is keeping an eye on you –
Digs the loam and hem places you inside:
Inside you scream like dogs
Being beaten by hysterical men
That betray you at your
Unwashed feet cracking at thorny brown
Grass beneath feet you shoulder thru
Gaps between myself and you –
Your bad manners place you on shelves –
Your blonde hair does nothing for you,
Each edible morning mattress of fog:
Easily a free heath –
Suckling stillborn, the screaming
Mothers just like you,
Dressed in white and blue
Your brown hair does nothing for you.
(Editorial note: Whole thing written and edited in 25 minutes).
**I like to think this is an angry poem.