all the stars in my living room: dead
in the kitchen: dead
the bedroom: dead
bathroom: dead
it always looks like the sun is rising,
a horrible red wart, and the sun is rising
the speckled clouds just choked on the big dipper,
and you can bet I belly-laughed
the fir trees are outlined in some off-brand gel pens,
if there’s glitter falling, then you’ll want to come back in
shake off that toxic rain, you’re a wet dog,
I’m a wet bitch
and when I’m belly-laughing there are no stars to watch,
an angel must have saved the clouds, heimlich maneuver
served but not deserved
oh preach forgiveness, but remember this death is not
peach-scented, sun-kissed
and it always looks like the sun is rising,
dawn lost her way to the party, she must have
always darkest before she lights up the room with her smile,
the stars are all dead in my living room
Olwen Daisy is a poet inspired by nature, myths, and legends.
The Literary Forest Poetry Magazine 