artist, poetry, Uncategorized

Diary Entry 11:


Based on Banksy’s ‘Floral Protestor’. 

A War of Roses

Flower bombs

as tossed into a bed of bedlam

only pepper the sheets

that scream.


There, the feet carry

sprouting shields,

but the flaming fields

can’t speak.


They’re a squeak

in the disquieting dark

and the spark

that can’t be heard amidst the shrapneled shouts.


Over the notes of thistled throats,

the canary coughs crimson.


It’s about time the metals gather their litter.

-A. Struthers