Fields of Dead Wood

Unpublished pieces

Fields of dead wood lie like 
bleeding temples in the maze. 
We talk of many nothings. 

The sound of your voice is glass, 
shrill and brittle. 

Accusations and false charges. 

At my request 
you flower the sidewalk 
with my fingernails. 

I've ripped them 
for you. 

Supplied the pain 
to prove my surrender. 

Talking, you plan 
my future 
disregard my wishes. 

The sound of bells 
that are ringing like 
insane lizards 
impaled on sticks. 

As they die, 
I bleed with them.

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