A Poem: Juice


Sirens call my tongue

to taste the bittersweet

poison orange. Heart

racing, I lay in
the casket dressed
white for angels.

Demons take scars

away. Citrus journeys
down cracked spine.
Bloodshed over
my third eye.

Minutes compress

holes, gapes
the light cannot
reach. Each sip
I am forced to

take is a battle;

full on genocide. War
ships come to shores
of ashes, golden

like the hidden sun.

Image: @FED

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1 Comment

  1. says: Richard J Mullany

    I taught your mom skiing at sugarbush Vt one Christmas week when you were very young. We had a ball. You progressed rapidly, I hope you remember.

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