If we were kings
I would have lain
Wasted all this time
In the eternal sleep,
A fraid, stale garland
Within my loosened clutch
About to fall off
To where reason
Regicidists reaped.

Purged frail teeth,
Patternless slate cleaned,
A stained glass window
Up above me, high,
Someone stole the colours
Reflected in my hollow eye.

Time’s grating ivory claws –
Instead of thorns, ivy,
Yellow bruises
On my forearms,
In front of my upturned feet
Their ruptures freshly paved
With fallacies.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your 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