This poem came from images in a graphic dream. Here are the second, fourth, and eighth stanzas from “holy hell”:
thugs wear children faces
they carry guns under their shirts
knives tucked at ankles
they agitate hostility
spark skirmishes
explode malevolence
they don’t know their nightmare has my face
until they turn the street corner
my gun is just for looks
I hold it loosely in my bloody fingers
from a fight already won
maybe I should take that trip to heaven
walk out the kitchen door
click the latch
sip whisky with my friends
Lucifer will join us
he’ll remember I don’t like whisky
he’ll fix a cup of tea for me instead
with sugar, cream
cookies, crackers
© 29 November 2019
Cindy B. Stevens
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