MAYHEM
Issue Two – November 2014
ISSN 2382-0322
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Kristy Lagarto
Shark Teeth
The route to your house
in the daylight
is different at night.
The road turns to currents
and the buildings are coral
blooming in their lawns,
the sand gardens.
The headlights of cars
are tiny fish.
They catch the edges
of mirrors in the water’s
light and bleed white and gold,
fog the windshield, a tide of
loss and shadow,
muffled music.
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© Copyright remains with the individual author
Issue Two – November 2014
MAYHEM
ISSN 2382-0322
______________________________________________________________________________
The second time I went
to see you I couldn’t
swim fast enough. You
make me feel light.
You turn my lungs
over in your palms
until they become windpipes
and pierce a hole
through the sky with
their sound. I spin
out through my ears,
rush to a beat with
drunken feet, wide eyed
and slick bird winged
with a panicked pulse.
I wish I could have done
something, anything
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
© Copyright remains with the individual author
MAYHEM
Issue Two – November 2014
ISSN 2382-0322
______________________________________________________________________________
to be the ribbon sent
across the sky flying
like a star stained lighthouse
beacon, one that wraps you
up on the glassy surface,
keeps you afloat in the
present, banishes dark
underneath, sweeps away sharp
rocks, shark teeth.
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© Copyright remains with the individual author