no. 108

buried under the sun

the sun glinted off the pit of their souls

blinding them to their own horrific

imperfections

genuflections

they made to deities whose homes

were found in temples

made of skin and bones

they saw them in the mirrors

stroking plumped plumage

gilding their own lilies

edging away from

discovery

recovery

they saw themselves in mirrors

and were pleased with the reflections

content with their

insatiability

culpability

no insurrection

where is their rage?

at the bottom

buried under the sun

(written 26 november 2018)

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Published by

hupsutupsu

when writing, i am at my most preoccupied with the intricate workings of the world.

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