iambic 9 poetry, by Aiden Ardine

a golden particle hanging in pink.

skin flush, salivating mouth. lightning strikes tree.

blood blush like strawberries. stealing christmas

trees from a snow storm. tires slip on soggy

grey streets. bright lights, brass horns and

heavy strings.

rain falls silent. porches and rocking chairs,

wicker. weathered, dusty skin. toxicity bleeds

dry from these feeble fingers. at the mercy of

the felled train, impotence made manifest. heart

clutches blood soaked hand. razor blades.

meow. head throbs. childhood ghost stories,

lurking in shadows and corners. hallucinating

green cats. ceiling lights are bright. swirling

stars look pretty from below. grooving on alien

beats and angel harmonies. superstition makes

a man humble.

i am not man.

i am were-child.

the skull’s porcelain interior.

-Aiden Ardine

Featured in Vol. 3 Iss. 3
Featured in Vol. 3 Iss. 3