Mood: A Poem


I am that wasted excess

when you’ve just finished peeling an apple and the fruit rests with its rind resting around it

like a girl in a red dress sitting patiently in a field of clovers and daffodils

and you caress the body but leave the shrapnel skin for the disposal and you never wonder why

I am that surreal moment

when your head leans backwards and strands of hair lilt from your balmy skin

falling with the coursing river of gravity into the coroner’s hand

and you look up at his gentle gesture and realize that your starlight body is in his latex grasp and you wonder why

I am that frayed memory

when you notice that your long-loved scarf is unraveling at the ends so you lift the scissors and cut off the useless bits

and you try to sew it back together but realize that its crimson…

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Wade Lancaster

I could tell you more about me. However, I think you will find us far more interesting, if we share more about ourselves. What do you say?

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