Yes, It’s Ed

Flame fans the sloping hill.
Yes, it does.
There it sits.
Fanning flames,
And maiming cranes
Of my paralysis.

See its feather mocking head?
Its beak, sharp as scissors.
Open wide
Necking tide
Saliva glide
Pecking, beckoning, grazing
In my mind, open tide.

Flames smoke arthritis
In the wrist,
Inside the veins.
Yes, it does.
Young and useless,
Yes, it is.

Malfunction scissors,
Clip the wings, swollen sores.
Kick it hard,
Break it sore,
And the black flames lick-

Paint aching scenes of dead tombs.
There they loom
Yes, they do.
Dead to rest,
Red to rust,
Ed is dust.

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About Jodi MacArthur

I write omnivorous fiction.
This entry was posted in Charter Membership, Poems, Poetry, UDPS, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Yes, It’s Ed

  1. Love the conversational, almost didactic tone, Jodi. Creepy and evocative.

  2. lisagailgreen says:

    Wow. Ed is quite a guy.

  3. Tim Keeton says:

    Nice. I like this Ed. He’s now in my head…

  4. Thank you for the all the comments, Me Dearies!

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