Saturday, April 28, 2018

Blue Pages 1.2 — Kristin Garth

Specter
by Kristin Garth





Your life’s a cottage, edge of woods, between
trees primeval, a neighborhood. A wave
in windows, branches, needled pleas, serene
suggestions, iridescent chemise. Depraved
telepathy through thick plate glass. Black wool
wanders towards inevitable trespass.
An empty visage reigns through pane, pulls
your ghost from covers for dark games in grass.
He waits a winter then a touch,
supine abduction, your eyelids sewn shut.
A specter princess from a corpse he clutched.
Immortality without a cut.
A hundred humans pound your blood red door.
No brick or body holds you anymore.



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