My heart:
as sore,
as it be,
continues to tick…
how does it
keep beating?
how am I
still breathing? –
so certain
of the death,
was I,
ready at last
to lay down
and just die…
accepting of,
a fraudulent,
sprung from,
So tired,
my line of,
so blurry,
so blinded by,
that which,
only I,
can somehow,
still perceive…
with clarity –
it’s no figment,
to insanity;
call to arms,
let loose:
curses and,
good-luck charms,
there’s a Rabbit,
in the sticks out there:
tromping through,
the woods, somewhere…
and on his key-ring,
he’s hung,
the damndest thing:
A freeze-dried human arm.

6 thoughts on “Trinkets.

  1. Oh hell lady that’s a good one, write on!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Absolutely love this….

    Liked by 1 person

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