MONICA FRANCISCO-DEKAM
Chirp freakin' chirp Winged bastards of solitude
MONICA FRANCISCO-DEKAM
I am the Father Of mirth and shadows Dystopian Despot The Arranger
MONICA FRANCISCO-DEKAM
My inflection carefully inspected My name is bastard The b is silent
MONICA FRANCISCO-DEKAM
Supremacy manifold proletariat fed Hung like suits in a closet Dry humped and brushed clean Pressed and euthanized Submission

In love with you

I wasn’t

Hair falling across your face

Hands hesitating

Eyes glowing with

Me

I never saw

You

Thoughts ideas possibilities

Hyper-real dreams

Textures of life

Falling on an open palm

I was in love with

Intangibles

Unknowns I thought

Only I

Could be

As the glove crafted

Threads stitching

Nothing into something

More important

Hyperboles spin until

Goodbyes are

Said better

And hellos are

Pebbles

In a rippling pond

Mistaken for a wishing well

Slippery with pennies

Fingers lapping them up

Into an economy

As elusive as

Hope