Funeral Mass Poem by Charlotte Ballard

Funeral Mass



Stepping carefully
Over rocks that nibble and
Treat me with disrespect
A mystic fog full of termites and
Fleas leans twisted
In 4 by 4 arrangement
Arguing that
Floral arrangements
Tap blindly
Across a wooden floor
Tasting nothing like
Sugared Whispers
Spoken through coffee
And a bit of jam with that.

Sunday, June 8, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: funeral
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