someone painted a west texas sky over california today
and clouds and clouds
just miles
green dreaming reaching for roads
the lonely limbs of december days
and the red rooftops below
Filed under Psychic Reader, yum cupcakes!
There is a baby dead, there
within the cloth, within the womb
Too much is wrapped up in this root
that brings a death, a birth
Behind the mother’s head, the braids hang still
One child is here
No father, no sister
a grimace to the world
This cannot be a child.
Whatever feathers and rain and winds that whirl
in old sack cloths left
in potato fields to rot
This cannot be a child.
Filed under Psychic Reader