The Grapevine Telegraph by Kai Cherot

Harrington Pl

Too strong a
feeling sweeps me
to the banks of where living
flows meet. At the bleeding creek
my back was to be loved by
the bark of a sycamore tree.
Here, a young man comes to find
he derives from death.

Death in
death kept in everyday.
Settled powder on the face
cold collapsed veins and
HIs wake keeps the world on moving-
Without secrecy or quickness
I’m in its undone now, how wouldn't they
know with all these
rotting roses ?

are you following now? next day,
next day. Our daily death parade.
Whiteness likes to regulate black death
but like to keep its vision of it hidden.
Tucked away.

To see it. to know it real
oh, wouldn't that only confirm
what the world knows of
its fear of black blood
and its never resting ways.

Under the shade of ms. sycamore
to open my eyes… and in view
A word and life lived in it,
thorns ripping pressed against
my chest keeping hold of
the already mangled heart.

now, what to do with all their rotting roses?

Mrs. June

What does June say to you?
heavy thick air
She's her own witch
with which like slumber
makes you Breathe
low move heavy.

June Keep it quick crisp
Wood split like hurricane
Come on Mrs.June,
you maim this incredible
with a lethal elegance

June made me sore
I bare it oh so
while i wait for my ends
to meet with no pay in mind.

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Quite visions move past
Tears shed
leaving us
In undoing, gnawing
stone
As if it were bread.
I hold you hoping

to rid the weary
that covers you bitterly.

comforting company
Brings warm distant
melodies
from the future
Soon their vibrations
blaring
will beat our souls
Taking us clean
to a world where
love is an epidemic