No Guts, No Glory


the wind shudders breath

sinuses weigh like clouds

gravel nails flay palms

–for the hearts–

and a cumulus of tears

bitchslaps its stratum:

–condensed sadness

–recycled faith

–evaporated belief

a striped embroidery

of furled hope

*plus asterisks*

that still runs up the flagpoles,

most mornings

–partly, at least–

shoddy workmanship

~factory assembled legs~

& inept handling

catching Old Glory at half-mast.


©Karen Robiscoe

About Charron's Chatter

I bring to you an arrow, whole, Use it, or break it, But if you choose to take it --Know-- With it also, I will go. © Karen Robiscoe @1992

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