Ensorcelled Within the Moonlit Eyes of
P’aqo
Her silly putty face worn,
The Dowager’s palm was greased
As the lightning strikes the beast.
Rivulets of blood seep from sacred
dogs.
The starry-eyed loon,
The wild-eyed child
Running through the streets,
Stopping the second before those dogs
pounce.
Smelling the tears, she in the
childhood tent
Feels the old hocus-pocus
From outside, the hiss and blast of
truth.
But the shaman has not lost his grip,
Much quieter next time,
The fight much less painful.
Just tell the truth,
Give no hypnotic promises,
No serpentine ballet
Woven between real and false.
She thinks, she feels
He promises,
I’ll create the moon tonight
He does, he does.
Linda Imbler is a poet, fiction, writer and author. Her works have been published in numerous publications including Ariel Chart. https://www.somapublishing.com
Tags:
Poetry