GreyBean

There’s a subconscious genius etched in the curve of your shoulder blade. (Polyphemus spitting, weeping, cursing to the sky.) Blood is blossoming from your bones and you are opulent in the husky periwinkle night.

i.
the government has no right to shove their hands down my throat / & pull out my bloody beating heart / as they dress themselves in white / & pretend they're planting olive trees in our soil /

ii.

clockwork orange
and the haunted house creaks with a thought.
the stench of silence is imminent (prominent).
look at the truth—
do you like the way it twists and ripples?

you are but a labyrinth 

1.
it started with silence,
then a baby’s wails
and a mother’s happy tears.

2.
she was six years old
when the war started. 
her parents silently cursed 
the red 
under their breath. 

sometimes I grope for words
and laugh at myself afterwards. 
(because I’m supposed to be a writer, aren’t I?)
other times, I sit on the chipping green bench
and pretend to stare at the birds
while I tap
tap tap