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Monster

From my poetry collection, 'Blood for Honey'.

By Erin SuurkoivuPublished 5 years ago 1 min read
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There is nothing to pinpoint

Of the strange beast.

Only images,

Blurred and refracted,

Fleeing down a hallway

Of mirrors.

O maestro of conditions,

It is you they are in love with,

A dark sun unaware of its own orbiting planets.

They are the cause of all of it.

Every comet, every lack

Leaves a trail etched across your sky.

And in their eight eyes

Something seemingly whole becomes distorted,

A piece cut out made separate from the rest.

From this gulf appears a war engine,

A bite of venom,

The desire to kill what they can’t.

Darling of judge and jury,

Blame absolves them of all responsibility.

You are the sole carrier of their weakness.

They fill your skin with their nightmares.

Flesh as fruit

Is strictly poisonous,

Bleaching the sheets of the saints.

Now no more—

Vanished,

Like what was found and then lost.

Like what was married and

Soon divorced.

Still, notoriety is a phantom

Floating in cages,

Star player

At a masquerade,

Costumed with

Your own face.

art
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About the Creator

Erin Suurkoivu

Erin Suurkoivu is a poet based in PEI. She has been published in Leaf Press, Wicked Alice, and MockingHeart Review. Her poetry collections include Blood for Honey, Not Quite a Hurricane (Soap Box Press), and Witch.

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