The winter sticks

The winter sticks
Into the eye of the earth
Her mouths chatter
Cold as an Icelandic nurse

One has
Dark brown bark
Like the letter I
Broken in half
On the white page

I do not feel
The snows scissor pins in my hands
Next
Comes the footprints
Around the dead grey green scrub
Enclosed
By a black magicians curtain
Of memories deep well

There’s not a face
O love
In this picture
There is a mother
Mysteriously blue
In the poverty kitchen
And a Gremlins outline
As black as soot
Who returns each night
From Teutonic fires

I have
The eyes of a blackbird
As I sit in the old straw stuffed chair
Flitting my boy flesh
Wanting to sing
In the starlit room

Author: blackbird212012

I am interested in multimedia work: songwriting, art, and creative writing. I have been involved also in theatre and music performances. View all posts by blackbird212012