Scraping the End of the Barrel

by

Hay Machine

Thick juice-dried sediment
dark-stuck to oaken floor
boiled smell of worm-grave
cat-flap to despair and hunger's door

The soul whose child is hope
can navigate and move the limbs
destroy and undermine in killing love
commits no greater sins

When drum is apple-full
its round sweet floor is bless'd
when gluttoned life is run
then black and graveyard-dressed

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Awaken in me, O God!
by: Michael John O'Connor
from: Minneapolis, MN, US

To visit all of Hay Machine's poems, click HERE

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