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Vicious Aloe

she she she
has no idea
a carnival-poor sleep
she she she
she wishes
for a charcoal night

too serious to be in kind
cascade of callous hearts
the truth is buried deep
in mud, in clay, in stone

he he he
has no idea
a losing circus dream
he he he
he enchants
for a chalkdown wish

we candles in the midnight
from the cradle to the grave
are crying in our closets
for half our lives
at least


  1. Lisa wrote:

    Really nice. I Like how you gave the lighs a voice…. environs sometimes have just as much identity as our poem’s human subjects

    Monday, April 2, 2018 at 9:52 pm | Permalink
  2. josh wrote:

    Thanks, Lisa!

    Wednesday, April 4, 2018 at 7:02 am | Permalink

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