by P.C. Tavarez
Blue Beard
Blue Beard
You stink of
Bleach
And berries
Your eyes are
Feline canoes
Of bruised fruit
And dusty obsidian stones
You cry only
When you need to
Feel like God
And you laugh only
When you feel like hell
You sunk the
Last galleon
(Rusted cannons, splintered deck and all)
And left it to rest beneath
The reflection
Of a cloud
Which, whilst admiring itself,
Sank also into
The public pool
Of your child hood
The one between church and school
This is where,
For many years,
You lost a number of things:
Hundreds of nickels and dimes, a pair of swimmers goggles, the necklace of bones she gave you, finger nails,
The kisses you tried to steal, but hadn’t the strength to; the hands you kept behind your back
P.C. Tavarez is an eighteen-year-old student and manipulator of the English language.
