CLOSET CHAMPION
It was a flood
Of dreams– omens
Held to the jugular
Nothing
Nothing- just deer fat
& cotton wadding
In the lean
As the jubilee
Of black sugarcane
Reclaims the valley
Under a swimming glaze
Of ruby petals
& the thick melodies
Of the blue cardinals
Bay of Burnt Brass
True loves always burn each other in effigy at least that’s what you told me as the sky opened up into foams of rattlesnake hearts and or it’s old prescription bottles while the mountain sort of sang an old gospel tune and the peaches fell into the river and the water is all turning black certain the bricks will soon be swallowed by Hellfire but every time the Thunder cracks like a slick glass in an old sink I smile like a jackass eating Briars and think of all the silk in the sky I used to hone in on while drinking downtown like a ticker-tape champion guzzling champagne
Clem Flowers (They/ Them) is a soft spoken southern transplant living in spitting distance of some mountains in Utah. Maker of a fine omelet, but scrambled egg game needs some fine tuning. Nb & bi, they live in a cozy apartment with their wonderful wife & sweet calico kitty. They can be found on Twitter at @hand_springs777
Punk Noir Magazine 
You must be logged in to post a comment.