Friday, January 26, 2018

Black Dirt Doesn’t Ask Questions

Bury me east of the moon.
Let my bones rest beneath
the cottonwood where
dreams dance with the devil.

In the death rattle of stained glass
black robes already gather
in the choir to sing of my damnation.
I suffer their notes,
but freedom doesn’t need
to glory paste confession.
 Black dirt doesn’t ask questions. 

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Saturday, January 20, 2018

Even Angels

Louis-LĂ©opold Boilly - A Lady Seated at Her Desk

He sat me among naughty things
and told me to think of innocence.
Of all the sins brushed across my skin,
denial sent the deepest blush.

With my arm pressed against my thigh
I tried to not wonder how his hands would feel
beneath my dress and demon’s silenced.

Even angels hate pedestals.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Friday, January 12, 2018


Darkness paces behind my eyelids
where monsters dance, and
tomorrow is hungry.

Sunlight is my warden…It guards
shadows, peers through curtains,
chases thoughts into inspection.

But it’s when the moon dresses
the wolf howl anger damns
the sweet sonnet I masquerade in.

Evil craves a host and I am its welcome.
Wicked opens wounds.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Friday 55

Tuesday, January 9, 2018

What Lies Are For

You know what lies are for.
They dig graves in eyes and tongues
to bury trust in plain view.

They are spoon fed until
their poison tastes like sugar coat.
A rat boiled in honey tastes sweet.

Weary them…Weary them…
until the body can’t protest,
and voices drown in the noise.

Freedom no longer has a Wikipedia page
or a definition in Webster…
You don’t know what you have until it’s gone.

You know what lies are for.
They dig graves in eyes and tongues
so weary can’t transform outrage into resist.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Real Toads ~ The Tuesday Platform