Dave Migman is arranging the mask

Arranging the mask


As you stare at the shadow
that clouds the wall of the night
you sense the solidity of presence
you shiver deep inside when
you’re splayed naked
grappling the inner pulse
out of depth and scared.

The hammer strikes the anvil
an echo fills your chest
reasons, or their worth
sinking at your feet.
Stamp them into soft
red earth. Hold your tongue
but feed your eyes
delicious vistas,
turn it
inside out


* Dave Migman writes “Mr. Migman is an illiterate despot. Part saint, part muck, part string, part sticky fluff. His words and art have found their way into various online receptacles and such like.”

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