Pseudopsychosis.

A red boudoir
in the earth’s ax to bruit upon her branches
leaving in skull-white redress, neck
covered in frost; shyness is halved
in father’s seed from his to his daughter;
in the cherry tree slaught with black doves
arched in mad gaze, the fire flower from
firethorns strayed like ossification in
a pomegranate womb, and shook with death,
sobered in sea-
sick with the heir of our ghosts
for the sleeping black rose, thorns
as whispering monarchies wearing their human suits
kenning blood into their blood, fathers of daughters,
mothers of seas then buried,
leapt to death in ocean oasis,
why tear the head off of the bird?
too brutal for me when we
can watch instead like the madmen we are.

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Written for the dVerse prompt:

Tonight, I want to give you the title for your poem, and let you do the rest.

I want you to choose from one of these titles:

• Travelling in the wilderness
• She said if a red fox had crossed somewhere, that area was safe
• They say only the south wind flattens grass
• We are teachers to our grandchildren
• Lead dogs are very smart
• Squirrel hunting in the mountains
• A story of when the ice detached and the people floated away.

This is a very horrific poem to me in what I describe. The meaning, to me, as I base off of emotion is in the final two lines.

For something not as depressing, feel free to look at this picture of my Haji: