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Open Poetry #37
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smithdr
Junior Member
since 2006-02-25
Posts 26


0 posted 2006-02-25 03:30 PM



Jamie Tingley lived in a locust
and, for Christ’s sake, he loved

straight edged tattoos of sparrows,
speared in cobwebs,
spilling feathers    
      on bloody elbows.    

      On inner arms
a golden crown, a tilted skull,
clichés of roses with no temple
to hold them –
      or him.

No crossbones, just crucifixions.
  
      On cement runways
we stood, knowing full well
where he lived.

And so goes the locust leaving
inked-on memories
      on Jamie.
      On me.  


© Copyright 2006 smithdr - All Rights Reserved
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