A Walk In The Suburbs



I am explaining to my brother

The personality of every tree

Along the path.


My language is verbiage

Of every sapling

That ever grew from my grave.


Rotten woodlands

Sprouting in the teeth

Like clockwork.


When we are kings

Of this garden,

Leaves of oak

Upon our bodice,

Summery flashes of lightning

So young,

So early,


With our penumbra.


How do we

Feed on light

And shed stardust,

How do we

Glow against the midnight;

Our mother a disco ball

As we sway

Among lowly nightshades.


We seek to know

The mandragora’s drowse

In its own lick of poison,

What makes the birch

Love so stoic


Make love like a shivering rabbit

And shake before me

When my eyes are lain on it


As a seemingly suspended rustle

Like when hearing

Your lover whisper,


Who are you


Who am I?

~ by Oloriel on April 5, 2019.

2 Responses to “A Walk In The Suburbs”

  1. Love! My sister’s and mine mother is a disco ball too. 🙂

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