Poems from the
Inside
Seek
the light of day . . .
Within Your Head
Letters for - 'r'Ed
A man asks me if I've seen
a man we both know is dead.
I turn around and there's a woman there
I used to know.
But that ain't her.
She is in
Red.
Such a pretty, bloody color.
It's just your shade.
Then there's another close resemblance
to that same old friend.
This one so pale she looks quite dead.
Her stockings match her deathly pallor.
Even walking upright,
she looks quite dead.
"I'm leaving Wednesday"
some woman said.
Was she in Red?
I couldn't say.
I turned away.
If I threaten you, you'll just turn me in.
So here's my plan:
I'll copy all your dirty tricks
then I'll snigger as you spin
within your head.
You fuckin' Red.
© D. Winter 1999
