Cold hands linger
like twenty roman soldiers
in full regalia
sucking teeth to mainstream pop
and neglecting summer
like a passionate disease
you want to know the truth?
you couldn't handle it
bring me back to the spring
where the flowers are dead
and the streams bleed dry
monotone carousels spin
in green and barren parks
the world goes round
wooden horses gallop frozen
as catalytic doubts in your hands
rusted bones and coughing melodies
Let me fly through earth
like the roots of ages past
or even bring me redemption
by slicing off my head
Now you see the truth?
you just can’t handle me
© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved
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