A brush

This brush of mine

its wood so sweet

like candy found

on children’s teeth.

Its colour red and black

like a gift given, then taken back.

This brush of mine-

its teeth so sharp,

like the strings

of my old golden harp.

This brush of mine it combs my hair

so tightly that it doesn’t spare

a life or two to spread some joy

to the skull it will so ruthlessly destroy.

The Daydreamer