Blood Daisies

Lambs don’t touch in Tehran or Tel Aviv or Toronto.
>
> Blood daisies mark the first time he was a Sunday Demon.
>
> The wind cannot leave the seed, we damn ourselves leaving it,
> carelessly.
>
> Lambs don’t know the planting, but make masks of it that are not
> shame.
>
> Wolves chase them down, the blood daisies become orchids, that rip
> away masks.
>
> The moon comes to light the loss, ruddy and excited, a weight that
> lasts forever.
>
> Perhaps lambs don’t touch, but they can entwine spirits, without the
> need for more.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s