by Jonel Abellanosa
Skulduggery of shades put me in.
Grays for taste buds, ground grainy
as doves. I smell blood.
Mouths expel hollow air, and I hear.
Palms like blue cornflowers,
luring to be pulled. Charcoal
bodiless arm and leg, but not
deep as indifference, the world
still a bullring. I can’t help but
see the orange president, his hair
spearing the horse, its painful
neigh my neigh, your neigh.
The sun is a slug, a bullet
lodged in the complacent spine.
Light lingers for lies, how we
still believe no one else dies.
After "Guernica" (1937) by Pablo Picasso
Skulduggery of shades put me in.
Grays for taste buds, ground grainy
as doves. I smell blood.
Mouths expel hollow air, and I hear.
Palms like blue cornflowers,
luring to be pulled. Charcoal
bodiless arm and leg, but not
deep as indifference, the world
still a bullring. I can’t help but
see the orange president, his hair
spearing the horse, its painful
neigh my neigh, your neigh.
The sun is a slug, a bullet
lodged in the complacent spine.
Light lingers for lies, how we
still believe no one else dies.
A previous contributor to TheNewVerse.News, Jonel Abellanosa resides in Cebu City, the Philippines. His poetry has appeared in numerous journals, including Rattle, Poetry Kanto, McNeese Review, Mojave River Review and Star*Line. His poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and Dwarf Stars award. His fourth poetry collection Songs from My Mind’s Tree was published in 2018 by Clare Songbirds Publishing House (New York), which will also publish his collection Multiverse. His poetry collection Sounds in Grasses Parting is forthcoming from Moran Press. His first speculative poetry collection Pan’s Saxophone is forthcoming from Weasel
Press.
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