The Vagary of Bare Trees

The rough touch of madness
Is surrounded by prickly promises
And searing miseries,
Why than must I suffer the unconscious
Of visions I don’t really seek
But seek to seek me
In a surreal vernacular vagary
That pulses to me like to much wine
Poured straight into the meat beneath my skin
To saturate and thrust my veins into fire
And tempt my hand
In visceral dreams of whim?
Why must I trudge my crescent soul
Illuminated by struggling venom
Nudging the soul to get out of control,
Why than shots for poisonous poison thoughts?
Why than the discreet gracious child
Laying waste in inner sanctums
If the trees are bare here with fruitless curves
Of whirling words that do not land on ears
But rather land on deadly crows wings?
They will only fly once they have had their fill
Of the carcass?
I’m lying on the outskirts of the open mind
Upon an opaque floor
Watching you beneath me
As if I could see the shadow of time
Play with the mysteries
That were once our Milky Way
At the breast of Mother Earth.,
And here I will stay
Only as long as ephemeral time shall pass
Upon the lips of mourning over lost realities
And the perverse caress of winters lick
On a phoenix wing.


By Veronica Garcia from "The Pathos Collection"