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Poppy Perry May 2015
In a dire little spire's shadow
A form pitters, admires a sad show
A girl of the world waits on the drab stone
Waits to unfurl the curl of her mad bones

Hurrying the boldness
To give those bones flight
Into the noblest
Last act of performance night
or exercise in masked spite
Irrelevant, an embellished fate
She crouches, contemplates
The height, the likely injurious spate
The form flounces around the wait

This **** of this morning
Almost hawk of forlorn dawning
Sures it's tastes, titillates
Red shine in the eye reflects
Mind's highs and shy delections
Foreseeing shards of residual head spread
Over acutely angled limbs
and digits subtracted and mangled

To no surprise she rises
It sizes up the prize that provided
An answer to lies so hideously divided
And a thirst for the worst that insidious lives wish
Saviour of absent behaviour
No try, no cry, no mind for saving her
A foot left the paving, the body flailing
Regaining
On gravity and the audacity
Of life's magnanimous, massive, flaccid needs
A sound of pained muddle hounds the cease
Years regain in puddles on the dusty concrete
A prayer said alone from a just, husky tree

***** and undetected
The monster's expected scorn ejected
He moves now towards the poor unsuspecting's rejected
Silhouette of chance and dances dankly in his delected
Tragedy of red majesty and death's rich tapestry perfected
writingtree Nov 2017
the dooth pattern
lips summer from umbrella
tieing spiraly laces
granting the filament
hard deep suggest then
its doesnt matter stuff
it doesnt matter when
hearting cade
river nance
to much piruling
a scarry race
the scurry dance
delected dreams
mind beaming the ridge patterns
from an unpublished book titled "spree"

— The End —