Skip to content

Reactor

October 7, 2017

onehundredandseventy

You’re a dressmaker’s doll.
And I’m a clockwork bull.
Beautiful idols, both.
Forgotten in a toybox.
And you’re full of little pinpricks.
And I’m full of little cogs.
Itching, both.
Inside the skin.

Sing the circle.
Sang the scalpel.
What begins in Death.
Must end in naught.
And I’m Red in the places you taught me.
And I’m black in the places that bind.
Threads of sickened memory.
Sew the cloth of time.

Fluttering in a bloodshot eye.
The crowd are gathering round.
To stick their pins in the snorting beast.
The great wild bull is lying down.

Advertisements

From → Poetry

Leave a Comment

Leave a Reply

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

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com 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 )

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: