waiting for death in a pumpkin mask

The dog tag chipped edges
metal shavings
hung around a neck the tunnel
he traversed again – gridlocked
again – floor four menswear
and sporting goods

Exits always to the left

You can’t stop the experiment,
the drugs are having an affect,
a beep of cardiac machine
sterile latex pristine

Nurse in rubber shoes

The shrill of the mad woman with
electrical cord as belt talking to herself
there – right over there –
by the plastic municipal receptacle.
House fire two dead

Tired eyes are rubbed

Crust of burnt toast on a plate the
last survivor of a set of six a
wedding present,
yes of course. But from who?
Things merge they blur.

The moment I realise I’m not wearing my glasses


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s