hark, the
dark screeches
apropos Atropos
she's reigning
she's raining
measuring,
ensuring. censuring.
erasing, making knots.
friend,
thread end
frays
strays away,
stray burrs
hitchhike a ride.
Cold metal spurs
on the spirit of murder and debauchery. caught in
grainy footage and the art of upholstery. skeletons under the rug, in the closet, peeking out from behind your bookshelf.
listen, the
poison screams
apropos Atropos
she's reigning
she's raining
snip snip
your time has come
cold jazz treats your cold face greets you, baptizes you in the warm moist heat of the night air. six feet of dirt on your face and under your fingernails.
the dirty work you'll never
shirk, but irk
the sisters that see you.
This is the bureacracy of death. This is how it is.
If you have complaints take it up with grievances. your thread
in triplicate, passport size photographs and identity crises. preserved under clear tape. The loom spins.
I want to talk
apropos Atropos
but she's listening in. curtains with impurities
bullet holes, paper thin bones.
She's inside my phone and my lies, my head and my eyes, my time and surprise.
let's talk
apropos Atropos
before her metal finds me.
guillotine, have been
afraid of time. and death. and what's to come. after the thread ends, the loom will spit out another.
(this might be the end)
or will it?
YOU ARE READING
Revèuse
Poetry"Everyday we prepare a face, to face the faces we must face." TS Eliot this book will never end, it's a way for me to keep pieces of me safe.
