Deadly Nightshade
shadow creatures
crooked as the claws of roots,
they curl over withered bushes,
fey in contort,
bleak pantomimes,
covert yet unearthed--
pleas from a buried heart
which defecated its hurt long ago
through a ribcage
and now
no touch taste smell or sound.
no sign language
or windy semaphore.
only shadows to vine
still through the creep of thorns,
twisted
======================================
8/26 ...
6/23/24 ... revamp
inspired by shadows cast from shrubs at dusk
3/12 ... "twisted" replaces "twistical" ... "covert" replaces "surreptitious"
1/21/23 .... "twistical" replaces "meaningless"
The poems don't like you. And they don't like me. They use us to be heard.
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