Flying Song

Every fear
a dead man dream
a snipers kiss
on latino lips.
Childrens happy graffiti
sewn onto ghost legends
by greying kitten whiskers.

Camera blinks
lens filled with murder
sequels are never this good.
Chipped teeth
a poets 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 feline born.

January winds
shotgun the June sun
applaud its attitude.
There was a hole here once
its gone now,
stinking in the underworld.

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

Trust and faith
are what the brave have
tucked into their flabby mouths.
To define angst
scatter the monkey
onto plagues...

@Steven Francis poems 1999