Out In The Sticks Poem by Frederick Kesner

... Out in the sticks,
where silence stretches
l o n g e r than shadows,
she dribbles… inaudibly.

Her words are a mere
whisper on the winds
an indistinct murmur
carried off into the tall grass.

She grins coquettishly
... a smile that dances
between mischief and madness,
a half-truth etched onto her lips.


Her existence is
a delicate balance
a tightrope walk between
reality and the edge of insanity.

... Born half-alive
, she navigates a world
that makes no room for apology.

Her movements are fluid
her intentions obscured
by a veil of ambiguity.

Even the deaf sense
that underhanded effrontery
which lingers in her wake
a subtle mockery that needs
no sound to be felt.

Her fangs, though sharp
remain hidden
beneath a coat of syrup.

She disarms with sweetness
a confection that masks
lurking predatory instincts.

In the stillness of the outback
her presence is a paradox—
a creature both feral and refined
whose whispers blend into the wind
whose smile hints at the untold chaos within.