the twelfth day of christmas

i killed some bum last night.
he asked me for a quarter,
so i shoved a serpentine dagger
through his heart
and watched the lucid desperation
in his eyes
as blood slowly leaked
from the eyes of the serpent
as tears

and on the twelfth day of christmas,
our tree was all stripped and naked
except for a lone star atop

i'm going out now,
i hope the moon
shall be high in the sky
(there are rotting
banana peels
in the fridge)


Poetry by Thomas Perdue The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 574 times
Written on 2013-01-16 at 20:23

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What ceases to have personal meaning
And what takes on new significance
Often defines the steps we currently take,
And with wonderment we seek our paths.
Banana peels included.