September Poem 57: Magic and Elves

Flashes of green and red pouring across

The canvas in bristly brush strokes. Basest

Instinct to disconnect and forget the

Earth. Richard Braxton. Poet in his own

Mind only. Emerging man. The bridge troll.

Rapaciously existing to chase your

Goats. His work won’t be published here. My god,

Unearned expectations. They must have grown

Verdant coils around my pretentious

Heart. The stupid heart that I cut out of

Plywood and nailed to a wooden stake to

Place out in the garden to make people

Think I cared about that Saint Valentine’s

Dinner. Except there was that one time. Once.




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