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Lexington Poetry Month

Awkward scrapes

The madman has such a radiant smile

He’s eager to squeeze any soft throat

See, you cannot make a sound

When I press here


The forest night bird chirps in the city

Could be the little people, misfortune, death

The ambulance and helicopter chatter

Wild things are a scatter returning home


Chiseling the age off a relic

Chafing knuckles to bloody weeping scuffs

Deconstructing the new construct

Priming the body for new paint


The flakes fill the trash can like a ditch

Overflowing with candy wrappers and bottles

Haven’t you had enough?

Isn’t this sufficient entertainment?


After sunset it is all black and white

The choice is this or that

Suspense is a bright room overrun by shadows

The mystery is known. We are just waiting


For the final credits

For the uncovered evidence

For order to be rightfully restored 

For the wound to finally heal

4 responses to “Awkward scrapes”

  1. The mystery is known

    Straight fire E.

  2. Amanda Crum says:

    “Wild things are a scatter returning home”–that got me. Gorgeous and haunting work.

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