Come Morning

Brother, your voice sparks poetry,
sing out synesthetic praises;
false gods alight as moons
bathe in your virtue: spouts
from your maiden mouth
diamond notes soak the deck.

Awed gluttons all, they suck up
sweet sunshine from the cracks
like fool’s gold, precious that you
mingle with the middling;
they keep you carelessly:
the little cage door swings open
you know, how bright and bloated
they become red giants
with your regurgitated words.

Love, I find cachectic truths more
filling than your empty elite
scaled creatures slide atop
my dinner plate to discuss politics
in hisses, science in croaks;
we stick out our tongues to taste
ideas on the airless dark.

 

Mariel Herbert is looking for brevity, but she will settle for humor. She has work forthcoming in Mystic Signals, Star*Line, and trapeze.

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