superstitious sonnet, facebook poem #17
Jay Sizemore

Through the keyhole she sees birds on strings,
an urn with ashes from the graveyard Alamo,
Satan unplugs the oven and sings,
I’m deleting you, before the sex turns cold.
Bridges built for fucking invertebrates
collapse like kids with artificial limbs,
the rediscovered youth of how a heart breaks
brings moonshine like ghostly songbird hymns.
Suicidal vets and sloths sleeping in blocks of ice
question the truth of a summer swing set,
shoes thrown in landfills only worn twice,
turn an obsession with war into regret.
Let’s take drugs and go for a walk outside
where a butterfly winged fabric veils the sky.

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