#literature – Michael Sean Erickson

Stabbed Cork

A timely dance ‘fore we’re last curled.

While riding on my upper back, she whispers that she wants a Peloton.

No one will threaten her there.

Even when near death they still will not trust him.

I follow the footrace to the sun-washed crest.

And moon fizz in Coeur d’Alene.

Sits in his rain scented square.

A god caped with a Fleur-de-lis.

Yours is a soul with a brand.

The oldest and most persistent archetypes gnaw at us.