Into Exile

cold wars
and silvery spoons
make me solemn
in self-closing eyes

always priggish
as a desolate diver
I blindly follow
the northbound shoals

hoarse in black iris
I'm a tipsy toad
howling in heaven
with frigid manners

resurrected again
in a parquet parlour
of colliding sighs

the highland highwaymen
set up bonfires
in instinctive phobia
of uninvited mirage

rural gravestones
salute the lightning
with tremendous pride

still frivolous
over the glum expressions
during prohibition
I smile with a frown
when my chapped lips
touch salty chips
into exile
to shock, to astound

by William Greco

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