ASSASSINATION OF A FLOWERBED
He begged her to help her daughter/She’d consent if he’d never show his face again She’d explain his death-disappearance & pay for the mock funeral/They shook hands, but he never signed the contract– withered now like a tattered leaf caught in between the rice paper of a well kept poorly read bible/We don’t all have skeletons in the closet –it’s the mystery of the matter that lurks beneath our pillows or pockets that scares me/Some forgotten deleted promise in the inbox of…Boredom once scared me: to be forgotten was a fear, but what comes close to the assassination of a flowerbed that never had the chance to be trampled by hooves
wild & untamed
& unaware
of the bondage they beat upon?
Brilliant – as always!