Bittersweet Vine

Bittersweet vine twists, trying to strangle

anything in its path feels the pinch.

The heart dances in its rib cage ballroom,

only the bones keep it from soaring up and out.

Anything in its path feels the pinch.

The Devil’s Trumpet is taking over. How can we fight it?

Only the bones keep it from soaring up and out.

The tick, tick, tick of the sprinkler thrums a funeral march.

The Devil’s Trumpet is taking over. How can we fight it?

Are we all going to seed?

The tick, tick, tick of the sprinkler thrums a funeral march.

Sentimentality is of no use.

Are we all going to seed?

Crows in black robes officiate from the highest branches

Sentimentality is of no use.

A narrow sliver of pale moon, pale as baby’s flesh, hangs over the river.

Crows in black robes officiate from the highest branches.

Pregnant blood-red poppies quiver at the sight.

A narrow sliver of moon pale as baby’s flesh, hangs over the river.

Deadhead the cosmos or it won’t re-bloom.

Bittersweet vine twists and strangles

crows in black robes won’t re-bloom.

A funeral march going to seed,

the heart dances, pale as baby’s flesh.

Kate Sullivan likes to play around with words, music, and pictures. She has written and illustrated children’s books, sung chansons at NYC Mme Tussaud’s Wax Museum, and her fugue-ish ‘Fugitum est’ was performed at Carnegie Hall by The Kremlin Chamber Orchestra as part of their tribute to Mozart. She has written and illustrated two children’s books, On Linden Square (Sleeping Bear Press) and What Do You Hear? (Schiffer). She also likes to paint ostriches and plays the musical saw to impress people. 

www.sullyarts.com | sullyarts.Substack.com.

For artwork, shop.sullyarts.com