Sycamore Stone

Ghostly mockingbirds,

With freakish squawks in blossoms.

With imaginary wizards,

Drained by beautiful complexity,

and obscene flesh.

They embrace with their pretty red hearts.

Dancing around with unspoken overgrown riverbanks.

Clinging silver braces,

Embracing.

Bodies touch near the water of magnificent hummingbirds.

Eyelids closed,

The addiction,

A confusing luck.

Camouflaged like chameleons,

On the sidewalks of life.

Vanished.

Disfiguring.

Flesh.

Reviews

[Eabani]

Your poem resonates. I can almost here the Mockingbirds distant, the sounds of nature and the sights they envoke are really very poignant. I love the idea of the addiction of it, the confusion...it paints a really wonderful moment and place. I can't wait to read your next piece.