Because they are the damp and rotting leaves of the season,
frigid and caustic rain that grips the joints and twists,
because they are more provoking than need be — more
acidic sky relentless in its thickened downpour,
hell bent on turning the soft insides out —
no one really wants to read them. Yet,
somehow, in a shared blood, curdled
with perversion — we do.
Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt, Copyright 2026, all rights reserved
Based on prompts from Mike Maggio
Posted in Facebook Poetry, Katherine's Coffeehouse
