Hellflowers. Hellflowers, shatter
me. One-eyed like God, the great Cyclops,
and that yellow glaring, glaring.
Every jagged edge of it spearing.
Who asked if I wanted this? Who gave
me choice? Color burns me, burns
me, begging for voice, while I stand
dumb, suffering the merciless
sun, its light searing through me.
Hellflowers, move me. Intercede
for me, splinter me, do what you will
with me, only use me. Use me.
Make my hand move.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 3.
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