December Poem 4

This woman, her closet, was trembling

In the temple of devil.

Bringing down conviction and brimstone.

The reaching is real,

And he was trying to grab her from underneath.

The night rose as adult children.

And he was hiding in her heart.

She awoke in the middle of the cracking iron bands.

December Poem 2

A white daughter, frightened.

Frightened by a seizure.

She killed.

 

Car accidents.

Acid grown.

Center of bowel bubbling.

Steaming froth rose from her head.

 

Adult woman,

Whom these things devil away her breath.

Her devil, phantom scented.

A grown woman mustered

On her pitchfork. A heart.

The tool of her finest of false façade.

The woman’s bloody fangs.

The devourer of souls.