deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Piñata
The least I can say is
I’m at home with the ghosts
That haunt my nostalgia.
At times they creep up
My freezer-burnt hair follicles
Reminding me of
How my heart was formed,
Papier-mâché and confetti-less
Filled only with artifacts
Of kingdoms past—
A nautical compass,
Fresh wildflowers plucked
Straight off the battlefield,
And pieces of stolen artwork
Depicting the most lightless eyes
Ever beheld.
I’m at home with the ghosts
That haunt my nostalgia.
At times they creep up
My freezer-burnt hair follicles
Reminding me of
How my heart was formed,
Papier-mâché and confetti-less
Filled only with artifacts
Of kingdoms past—
A nautical compass,
Fresh wildflowers plucked
Straight off the battlefield,
And pieces of stolen artwork
Depicting the most lightless eyes
Ever beheld.
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