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Propaganda

de Liès

I read your bones
Like a brautigan poem
Over and over
I traced your shoulders
And in the margins I took notes
For your future lovers
To discover

Corbeau, untitled

I read your bones
Like prophetic stones
Now I know your secrets
You can't change what the ink says
You were born to be adorned
And I'd die to be buried on your sleeve

Corbeau, unbridled

I see the Sun
Through all your clouds
Not everyone's as lucky
Or allowed

I read your bones
When no one was home

I'm sorry for the last time

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