Crooked Teeth, Soiled, Dispersed

A blaring feeling, a dearth of dying
so loudly, a cat’s call kissing kith,
killing kin, passion like brittle
battles, saddened by the doorbell,
in the dream I had, which was real,
frighteningly playful, with each [sic]
gunshot, which tore my mother’s
belly, I stood firmly unafraid inside
the door jamb’s woody hearth, crack,
growing fungus, stacked, stuck, [sic]
basted in gratitude and greens, pus
collapsed, troubadours ohing and
ahing as their trumpets screamed in
my ear drums, the silence: klaxon
king, each moment recorded, lament
is very real, fulfilling nights rarely
bubble devilish, but rarity realization
for a star’s lighted pathway, will
kill/maim this sadness every time;
dreams are for faeries, fierce themes;
saffron ambition; but sorrow is a [sic]
staple for stirred up ruffians, drunk
on their own brains, carrion of lives
once lived, and lost all in on night

~ by Shawn M. Young on March 23, 2018.

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