Nighttime and the air hangs thick
waiting to be sliced like a cake
and devoured in a fashion most unseemly
to be forgotten from that little fragment of time
A small patch-up in the fabric of everyday yesterday
spineless writhing little thing
wriggling in a corner, a slimy concussion
of juicy biology, its entrails flapping
Cut up in serendipitous corners
slashed at angles obtuse
Left in mangled remains of forgotten history timeless times of dust and disuse.
No comments:
Post a Comment