Miss Misery

You follow me 
to the river

Where paper lanterns land
 and fade
I bend you
 near the point of breaking

Through alders and brush resisting

I take you to the edge
Then climb your rib ladder

To where others have planted flags
But, I own this land

I carry no flowers for you
Nor plush forgiveness

Or swollen lips or
bruised thighs

There is no solace in
you’re obedience

Only it’s coincidence
There is only attrition
Yours and mine

Tonight we’ll feast
On the forest
And 
whatever lies
Beneath our bloody feet.


Michael Lorne Leard