© James WF Roberts
A minuet of devastation leaks from my pen
spitting out the rhythms of Desire, casting
shadows under the hands of a ticking clock.
Night falls softly into my hands
our legs, our feet locked physical security
at the end of the bed. Click the world
into nothingness. And I’ll be then.
And we’ll be happy then.
1,2,3. 1,2,3. 1,2,3, 4.
Fate shall bow, as chaos knocks on the door
turn the handle walk out into the abyss
turn away from the thoughts
of if or when. No turning back now
threshold crossed. Kerosene on the bridge
who will be first to drop the match?
Unpick the stitches around your onion skin
feel the heart in your hands beating out its
last shallow, staggered, staccato beat…
It’s a Hell of a thing to float between
Zombie and Vampire. Renunciate and sinner,
between the fast and the feast.
Floating between night and day
a brand new future and nothing left…
So you click on along to the rhythms
of your well-worn morning rituals
Shower. Brush your teeth—lost
all knowledge of the last time you had
something to eat.
just constantly floating…
floating like a leaf on the breeze
whose hand is the wind?
do you still see shadows as you continually
or is your shadow covered by something else now?
Masks like makeup and facelifts
boob jobs, penis extensions
better clothes, fancier car,
all creak in the harsh truth
what happens now?