Skirts for Hiding

All three of thee, under the table

Hide under the curl of the burgundy table cloth.

You hear his boots, don’t you? Move fast move fast, you are the crumbs, you wasted wax.

Running thru the billowing people shells, crunches and grunts in leaves and the curl of the dead flowers.

He is coming, you scamps, you are trouble, get thee under.

I have to take his thunder.

You stay out of sight.

Spiderwebbed

Pure poison

In the ache and the noise.

Further junction takes a broken jump. The weight lays light on lily hands.

This isn’t a code, a story in a straight line. Fire not fury toasty not ending.

A flicker like a kiss.

Aren’t you

Encouraged by the strength of color

That remains with you, foggy age brain

Still stringing the needle thru nouns and verbs.

A demise the size of a lifetime dream,

No one has been seen at the foot of your shelter and the shoe of your statue.

No one has submitted.

And now it is night.

…of writing more.

Maybe the toxic air has cleared. I’m so much wiser now. Knowing my worth, watching talents trained draining away despite that knowledge.

I’m afraid to die, afraid to make mistakes.

My escapes are escaping.

Physical pain makin’ it rain.

Yep, making thinking about writing more. But probably not.