I'm going to stick to the creepy stuff because it seems to be where I'm creating my best poetry. So, here's a poem about "the rape of innocence." Try not to take it too literally...




Fall
In a park
A playground

The wind recalls laughter
Then, icy water rings my throat

Cold wind clinks the chains of the swings
That linked me, in theory
To safety

Instantly
The trees
Are so bare

The limbs are too bare

They feel too much air
Sure, all you can see
But, no one
Is there
To see

Just me

I remember

Washing the rust off
And, cooling the burn
From my hands
In a fountain
That never stopped churning

Clear water
That never stopped running

Now, foggy
And, frozen
And, groggy grey morning hung over
The dawn

I woke
With dry blood in my palm


Cold wind turns to steam

I'm dry, shivering leaves

And, I'm swung like a child

Then, flung to the reeds


I want to drift faster
Like Fall
To be knocked unconscious
Or, land on my haunches
And, run
Or hunker
And, hide
My wild looks from the sun

I want the air plucked from my breast
To run my fingers through the grass
Then, grasping, to tear out the roots
The dark clumps of soil
And, gasping, on boots
The dirt
Still wet
In my palms

Rare palms
I washed
In a fountain that runs
Though, no one is there

A fountain that cools
But, replenishes
Nothing

I still feel the blood
It's churning

And, running

There's no way to hide

"And don't call us Maltesers." - Marquis