One little, two little, three little coxcomb
pray slack our rage
with a futile thought

so I heard them strumpet through the weeping dark
reverberating as the Sable laughed, howls
hot coles, abstract, to fill in the gap
as thus released my rain barrel

And as he spoke a new man die
so add blind dangling
that sudden light sound within those holes
of years for tears

to be bloodthirsty is better than a droop, let’s toast
to broken ribs of monstrous peak
to the powerful crimson arms

to 12 hanging chandeliers,
to 12 sheep hanging on the iron rod,
beyond courtesy of snake to snake in their snake-pit
to 12 hells lined up in forgotten time
to mild brightness trickles from the stars

Goes through loneliness,
Always blowing quieter.

Copyright Β© 2019 by Leila Samarrai Mehdi

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