Welcome to My Birdcage

I write backwards

in search of beginnings

because now can’t decide when.

For every bird chirp

there’s an empty nest,

and stars hate to dress

for dinner when  wishes

stain their best glitter.

There is too much boring

in narrow minds that

walk black lines because

dreaming requires new crayons.

Welcome to my random,

my unpredictable, my disconnect

to connect to a butterfly

while water boils.

Madness sits on the tip of my pencil.

She hates lists, using ink for temporary,

and my obscure aversion to seeing

someone lick the palm of their hand.

©Susie Clevenger 2018

Real Toads ~ An Antic Disposition

Every Sorrow Earns a Blue Note

 You’d have to know the roots to understand the wonder in her wings

I’m music poured

down an open throat

when the Irish ghost walk

their bottles across my blood.

There’s a whole lot of dying early,

dust, bodies in a cell, and carving

wood into fiddles so feet won’t

forget to dance.

The nail crawl of bullet tongues

carve hell into tiny pieces so mouths

can learn to nibble before they chew

their tongues into misery.

Every sorrow earns a blue note

to string enough pearls wisdom won’t

die in ears morgue trained to let

negative roost in the heart’s nest.

My bone thin hands steal

flesh from echoes so my limb

of the family tree can leaf words

where names will no longer bud.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2018

Real Toads ~ Transformations