The Orange Blanket

Wear a Mask or Die

Still Capture Credit: Ian “Irish” Collins 2014

The Orange Blanket

There’s woodwork in my wall stones

feeling the pulsate of my pineapple dome

I think my way back to the post shooting

ambulance comfort call



They pop the blanket from its safety-sealed cover

vacuum fresh, no bleeding, orange heat



Elsewhere now, her hair is caught in the dead smell

of her closet ghosts



So could it be

that my birthday note

didn’t arrive?

“I want to be your Ninja, honey”



With the warmth of your orange blanket

reading, hunting down the four letter spaces

in meta-culture’s six syllable tones

It’s all talk, their compelling narrative



Fingers of Azna, tap tap tapping heartbeats

till truth drips out, unrecognizable; two fingers tapping



Back then, again, her lips moving but the language

is null and devoid:

Her empty swimming pool holds a deeper treasure

skating her shallows to our grape soda backwash



Cameras are to follow; following you zoom

throughout the running over tunes in backrooms

exhume the swinging scenes, stillborn

Drop the blanket,

and step from our wreckage tap tap tapping

as the safety seal of yesterday is torn away



•K. Shawn Edgar | Invisible Delight | Bye Now | ESP Resistant


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