let me comfort you
with dreams of brambles
we’ll string them up like razor-wire

blackthorn blossom
cloaks its teeth
with breaths of cyanide
listen to its promises

drift on a cloud of pollen
soft as a moth’s wing
rub the dust into tired eyes
and let sleep slide over you
slow as the growth of honey fungus

this is the womb of the forest
hide yourself away from those wolfish boys

John C. Nash

If you have any comments on this poem, John C. Nash  would be pleased to hear from you.