She lies in broken fields
with crimson roses thorns for a bed.
At dawn the hills scream with sunlight
as buzzards soar 'round roadkill.
Stammering, I narrated the accident.
With rubberneckers looking backward,
I caught the crowd grimace in small corners.
I drank too much absinthe and pondered death
while the stench sweats in nostrils
and hangs under noses that burn.
The real nightmare is
juxtaposed your fantasies,
luring your deepest wishes on
with tight lingerie.
I ate twice-baked potatoes with my super-ego
we discussed our personal dramas and political progress
or lack thereof.
I ache with truth longing for the days of
young and dumb
because that was bliss.
Shades of dreams slither into mind
missing pieces of hearts mingled with old lovers
broken glass memories that twinkle
in the light of sadness and regret.
Forked-tongue flickering forget-me-nots.
Bronze trophy winner
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