“Legend of Winnebago”

7 Jan

“Legend of Winnebago”

Cross hairy arms

the saint of scars

is heaven-scent

and angels cry their wings.

Past schoolhouses,

bitter misers,

schoolmistress shooting up,

the tarmac deciduous,

the bishop’s perm,

stone gargoyle

the pasta of intestine

roving to mimic

starving to startle

weird scars and markings

behind your mirror

of make-up scraping evenings

the end of a dream.

Let the lock sleep with the key,

it’s his turn to let the mouse

nibble and run

from frightened dust mites

the tongues that shield and shadow

an eerie memory from boyhood

a parchment night, amber

the color of the aged paper moon

copper beneath dresser drawers

only the trolls discover

rust left the boot heel stiffer.

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