"My fireworks are not even in control
of the red blood cells turning
into glowing alien space ships
of the red blood cells turning
into glowing alien space ships
dripping down. An onslaught
of tiny strobe lights, of red snow
hitting my windshield.
of tiny strobe lights, of red snow
hitting my windshield.
Three dead birds on the top of my head
had wanted to fly inside my brain,
but never made it past the cracked hat."
had wanted to fly inside my brain,
but never made it past the cracked hat."
from my poem "Blood on the unpillowed
cases", newly appearing within The Rising Phoenix Review
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