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I gave you my heart but
    knew you couldn't keep it.
    I'm still expecting you to
    hold on to Love to a finish
    line that doesn't even exist.
    I set fire again and never look
    back. I smell the burning
    flesh. I hear familiar screams.
    The burning flesh is mine alone.
    The screams are in my head.
Always self fulfilling fears of abandonment. I smell burning flesh at 3am when sleep will never save me.
In a dream,
I see the raven
fly into the night;
his dark song beckoning
from his beak.
Shiny black wings promise
flight,
but to where?

I watch as the
pair of doves bellow
their songs of love
and with a rush of
angels wings
fly heavenward.

I hear the
bluebirds and
sparrows little hum of
hope fade softly into
the afternoon sun,
and I wonder,
what does it all mean?

Then I see them, and
many other kinds of
birds, with beautiful bright
colors,
Parakeets and parrots,
eagles and herons...even
a dodo and they are
all rotting in cages.
Some of the cages are
open,
others are closed,
but all the birds are
lying on their sides,
sad dead eyes,
staring blankly,
finished and flightless.
and I get it.
Check out my you tube channel where I read my poetry from my recent book, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, available on Amazon.com
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W0-hHZ6O8u0
Iniquitous priests and cannibals
Absolve
Then feed
Upon childhood dreams

I cannot breathe
Any longer
In this unfiltered
Parsimonious pond

Must
Push back what entangles

Must
Pull away from a myriad of angry souls

Must
Lift this ill-harboring mind free

Agony
He is my constant friend

And
He reminds me
I'm (somewhat) alive

And
That one shiny day
Along the suspicious river Difficult
I will finally slay him
BLT's continued challenge - to write a poem using the Merriam-Webster word of the day, parsimonious.
Oh Appalachia!
We live poor but are
richer for it. We scratch
a meager living in your
stubborn hills but would
not live anywhere else. You
hold our hearts and provide.
We love. We have babies. We are
welded here to family and friends
and dance in barns Saturday nights
to fiddles and banjos and moonshine.
Bury me on a mountain top in sunshine.
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