Flying Song

Every fear
a dead man's dream
a sniper's kiss
on Latino lips.
Children's happy graffiti
sewn onto ghostly legends
with greying kitten whiskers.

Camera blinks
lens filled with murder
sequels are never this good.
Chipped teeth
a poet's pearls,
wisdom bleeds from melancholy.

The return of a reaction
exit wounds like graves,
viva la gravola!
A sword slices the veil
truth lets out,
vicious to the feline born.

January winds
shotgun the July sun,
applaud its attitude.
There was an abyss here once
its gone now,
stinking in the underworld.

Little truths
honest as dew drops,
noble bruises
part of our religion.
Eccentricity is seeing
angels in coffins.

Trust & faith are
what the brave have
tucked into their ruby lips,
to define angst
scatter the monkey seed
onto plagues...

@Steven Francis poems 1996