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Crouched

 

Crouched

 

Halloween came late this year,          leaves tearing in an orange wind,    rain plowing the sullen sky,              uncertainty cutting its teeth              on empty, cracked branches.        Not far from Thanksgiving, except for the finger on the trigger                of the most awful atom.                    Unleashing from the nightmare      not guaranteed.                            Waking just as frightening              as sleeping.                                        This dream is real,                          the tentacles rooted                          in our choices and goodness,          never wanting to suppose             evil could be so profound.                All monsters take others down.  Winter holds no celebrations now,  no redemptions.                            Violence simmers below                the waters' surfaces.                        We're not ready.                              Neither is earth.

 

Susan Beverly 


Susan Beverly is a frequent poetry and fiction contributor to Ariel Chart.


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3 Comments

  1. an avarde garde experiment gone right. we do not see enough of this type of risk.

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  2. sometimes the usual structure takes away from the element of literary surprise. happy to see and hear something off the beaten track.

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