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Tears go by as years expand from Heaven to horizon;

and I scale the mountain ranges risen in

consequence of your death.

Jesus, or some other guardian breathes for me

whilst my lungs delight in respite from high altitudes.

 

***

 

In this,

the winter of my youth,

stillness

settles deep into bone,

and I am reconciled.

 

As I prepare for sleep ‘neath a blanket of white,

you visit upon me memories,

and I am happy here

at the summit of my youth;

for I will awaken in the dawn of golden age.

 

***

 

Tears go by as years expand from Heaven to horizon;

and I’ve dominated mountain ranges

risen in the pit of me—

all of them consequences of your death.

It was you who lent me breath.

 

© Kindra M. Austin

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Don’t be stoopid. It’s not me—

definitely you.

 

1.

Shush, now.

I know

break-ups are rough. Tough like

 

Rawhide.

Ever watch a dog chew on processed cow skin?

That shit’s indigestible; causes intestinal

swelling and diarrhea, etcetera.

 

Funny,

some relationships are (un)just

over-sized break-ups in-waiting,

glazed with meat flavoring for optimal taste.

 

2.

I used to lounge with you

outside in the summer dark.

Under the stars,

we’d swig bottles of Miller Lite

and inhale Marlboro tobacco;

two Alphas trying

to cancel each other out.

 

3.

Shush.

That’s a goddamned lie.

I

never had int’rest

in your use-less

competition.

Now you howl by yourself,

wondering

who will clean up your vomit.

 

It’s not me—

definitely you.

 

© Kindra M. Austin

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Saw your face today at the supermarket;

you watched me under the counter and

over the mustard

potato salad.

Oh! How far you’ve come;

I should say thanks for spitting down my throat.

Thanks for the lies, babe;

for nothing is truer than venom.

You never did have the intention of making me an

honest woman.

It’s been years, but still you burn me;

my reputation smolders,

and I see the smoke in their eyes.

 

I’ve been forgiven, but not forgotten.

 

I hate you,

but I’ll take a half pound of your pastrami.

 

© Kindra M. Austin

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The fables between us 

Satirical metaphors prance 

The ironies bleed pretty white lies 

Sarcasm bursts like ejaculation 

Covered in Satan’s thick liquid

Storybook pages stick together

 

The fables between us

Sardonic recitals

Recited by jesters and

Ponies dance in time while

His portal opens to swallow us all

 

Sadistic hymns 

Written by gargoyles and 

Unicorns prance in the clocks while 

Her throat opens to consume the tale

 

Sadistic hymns

Hummed at Sunday Mass

Panic the court and

Constable is lighted aflame

 

Tarnished fairy tales 

Scripted by euphoric lovers 

Dripping sweat lingers in the air 

Scent of religious perfume 

Lurks between the satin sheets

 

Tarnished fairy tales

Playwrights

Tragedians

Star-crossed nothing

But sky

Moonlight paints you

Angel white and me

The daemon

 

Stonewashed dogma 

Doctrines drenched in your spit 

Undressed teachings 

Relentlessly misinterpreted 

Forgotten verses 

Lyrics shredded 

Constantly concaved 

Staring into the phantasm 

Sucked in by your gospel

 

Stonewashed dogma

Canon loaded

Peace be with you…

 

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© Kindra M. Austin and Braeden Michaels

Don’t forget to check out Braeden’s excellent blog, Storm of Ink.