in ashes I subside.

the shaking rain
of white lies split in my head
whored forgotten to snakes;

in footed trees that grow from my chest
crickled in the occasional drunk root,
and a well-stirred death,
in ashes I subside.

© 2021 All Rights Reserved.

Be sure to join in on Ingrid’s poetry party on Twitter. It’s all about writing a micro-poem everyday (any topic, any theme) where a poet, like me, can butcher words together!

Categories: Poetry

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

12 replies

  1. I wouldn’t call this butchering words, but it does have a lovely chopped-up feel! Thanks for the shout out 😊

    Liked by 2 people

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