“Feast of Angelica”
It’s the child’s eyes,
Bleeding atonement fixed in the farce of her sex,
Laid up disappointing sensation.
Filaments point the disaster in twists of rhyme and sweat,
Hell is kissing the wet lips of her curse,
Force fed resolution,
Pinch the wick hard for a cold room to dissipate.
Hungry shame infestation, like rats fornicating…
Eating out the hollow impudent trunk of fear.
Old china in the basket case broken for years,
The bruises age on girls like stagnant fruit.
Frozen breath and thighs,
Aches of worms and skies, and horrid flies…
Concrete sensations in a womb truncated.
Bromine fluid exponential flowing,
Chemical halos eat the light and prick out the heart.
Feast of Angelica,
Consumer in flames from this static behavior…
Baste of wrath and conundrum,
Short deep cuts make her a new dream,
A wall in one room still remembered,
Purple and red meant trouble sometimes,
Guilt reads tantamount in a child’s eyes.
©2004 Christopher E. Vaughn