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Madison's Grip on the Magic Chest
Can't put a finger on it
It starts in the blood and
clogs in the throat
Two thumbs encircle themselves
Three times forwards
Five times backwards
Like stirring Koolaid
What was found still goes untold
There was a great bursting of eye vessels
and that girl can't see the forrest through the trees
She says that love is just malignant.
It is nothing else.
Two weeks ago it was life.
Two weeks from now it will be bread crumbs.
Thousands of them at that. Leading to the
bigger picture.
An epitaph, perhaps.
Or a better reason for living
Malignancy can do that.
The magic chest has endured the stillborn cycle of
the metaphorical itch of unsolvable puzzles
Sing her a riddle and she'll bleed from the ears and
curl up like a fetus
Maybe words will be words someday, minus their
underlying stitch.
Stomp the imagery with your stolen hospital socks.
It's the same as watching a tick explode on your front porch.
Finially, a promise that can be kept, quite literally and very unstenched
Madison's grip on
that ungrippable magic chest.
I like this. Its very cryptic but you do write so well that all your stuff is always a very enjoyable read.