deepundergroundpoetry.com
Terror
You're just afraid is all,
that between the lines
of flapping white linens
hung to dry
a noon sun asserts a light
immune to reproach.
I see you squinting.
What you gonna do
now that black is bulletproof
and ricochets sound
all around you?
Get the bourbon
from the gun closet
and pour it on the wounds?
that between the lines
of flapping white linens
hung to dry
a noon sun asserts a light
immune to reproach.
I see you squinting.
What you gonna do
now that black is bulletproof
and ricochets sound
all around you?
Get the bourbon
from the gun closet
and pour it on the wounds?
Published 8th Jun 2018
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