July 14, 2015 – mindlovemisery

5 Letters

The door is flesh, nameless,

Scarred to parchment

Tattoos choking out

The panes like gorse

And the grains

Running contrary

Sporadic as the kisses

Of reassembled sweethearts.

–

The door is a werewolf

Rising with the sclera.

The great white witch

Darkly persuasive

Weaves her spells

Into the courier directly,

An efficient brand,

A cowl of blades

Shimmering but deadly.

–

The door is a carnival

Contrived of lanterns

And balls of rain heavy

As the glass they frame.

Blind as a doll

She hunts by ear

Poised like a scorpion

Behind the resurrection.

–

The door stands alone

Without the bother of insertion

The heartbreak of a Ferris wheel

Unoccupied but toiling ceaselessly

Through a patina sky

As if repetition could recall

The miracle of fullness.

For

and

and

mindlovemisery