Friday, April 14, 2006

BITTER

Hunting-tip arrow
Breeches the heart,
Defunct meat brings only
Carrion. Am I dead?

Hanging in the balance
(be not too panglossian)
a word suffices to incline the scales to
Madness…

Stumble.
Where’s the rug??
In your hands, don’t
Negate.

The bird twitters in her glided cage,
But she cries when the door is opened.

Ironic.

Security,
Indian gift, indian giver?

Am I to smile??

4 comments:

Bernita said...

Freedom may be frightening after the comfortable cage, but if one survives the first flight and strengthen wings, one may evade the ambush of an impersonal arrow.
So they say...

Savannah Jordan said...

Bernita~

This was written a long time ago, but seems to fit the mood here lately -- slaughter or saddness.

I guess I'll go kill something now.

Bernita said...

Make it brocolli or eggs, huh?

Savannah Jordan said...

Broccoli and eggs don't bleed... *wicked laugh*