Jack the slaughterer
on a big red plain jack walks in a circle
searching his sight onto the ground
he carries an axe in his right hand,
with the shiny blade showing his sneer
in the left hand he wears a pair of golden wings
from the top of the feathers blood is pouring
in the glasses beneath his feet
suddenly, a curtain of laughs from the vanity box –
women and men, eating gently from the big trough,
built him a statue…
***
jack on the plain – pats with black leather gloves
the roots of a wing carefully planted in soil
***
wind took away those orange leaves
that hid jack’s bones
jack!…
the slaughterer is home
© Marius Surleac
Advertisement
Categories: Poetry
jack, neosurrealist poetry, Poetry, slaughtery
Your site has been a great inspiration and the knowledge gained has gotten me past the obstacle blocking my way.