slurs of lunatics

mbrazfield (c) 2022

at night is when i like to see

all those things that mean to me

the most and yet are so simple

at night is when i like to feel

through those little childish trinkets

the force of the world’s throat

speaking to me

at night is when i like to think

that those ideas imparted through pictures

teach me to be me

at night i sense the echoes

that bounce from my own glass ceilings

suspended by wildflower buttons

and the slurs of lunatics

at night i taste the salt of tears

erupting from the memories

of how i came to be

the keeper of these silly little trappings

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