Brush my mind
with ticklings of innocence;
I’ve since passed them
sinking in the quicksand
and heaving parts,
the remnants of ugliness
from connubial war.
our most real selves
are painfully owning all of it, even
the gaps so richly fabled when it suited.
in our reckless game of moth-eaten promise;
the bearers of bad news
always held their tongue.
They all knew their fate,
was so uncomely.
Solemn workers of the gallows have finally come
to set the masqueraders free.
It’s a ghastly job to examine the photo
pulled from the frame
when the lies were just so pretty.
Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Wagner
Apparently I am indefinite article deficient. I'm sorry if you read this post before I made the fix on the third to last line. I'm going to blame it on the flu. I'll be linking up at dVerse Poets Pub for OpenLinkNight tomorrow!