 |
2 Poems by Annette Hyder |
The Witch I chopped the wood. I carried the water. I baked your yellow hued bricks. To see someone else lay the cornerstone, stand at the fire, season the soup, is more than I can take. My trusty ax will not dull in making another home for me. My bucket will carry on without you. There is always more mud and straw. May your arm not know how to lift. May you always know drip and leak. May your endeavors fall apart, to match your nature friable, uncooked man. Dream Catcher The night air filled with good dreams and bad is primordial shape shifter. Dream catchers sway on arm-like currents, catch dreams as they float by beneath wampumpeag filled sky. Bad dreams, amorphous ectoplasms, get stuck like flies on star shaped web of sinew, then dissipate with morning. Ligament lines spider veining protection stop flies from bloating, getting fat off sleeping dreamer's carcass. Good dreams, concise in shape, arc right through the center pierce with insight and meaning the sleeping mind. Dream arrows I want you to have feathered dreams, winged messengers sure in flight with flint heads tipped in gold. No really I want to be them. But my shaft is not that true. Actually I'm a fiery missile bearing burnt things and cinder. Catch me now I'm falling.
|
| Edited By Jim Chandler & Haze McElhenny Site Design & Cover Graphics By UrbanDecay.Org |
< Contents |