When the phone would ring
I would do all the talking.
I would be the one in the supermarket
shoes worn out from walking
when the cupboard was empty
and the fridge was proud with rot,
when the city filled with people
like a cloth full of blood spots.
I’m talking to myself.
When the kisses came as cobras.
When you were starfallen down stairs,
inside a wall, or under a rock,
I was always there.
What goes on goes on,
and what’s gone is still gone,
In you and through you and out you
like a gauntlet before the dawn.
While turning in the sky wheel
the vultures getting low,
and at the center of it all who
carried the casket? I alone.
Through ghastly morning windows
smiling like a bandage,
as every cake, candle and wish
annually vanishes.
But love turned you to stone.
it stuck and burned like ice.
In the cursed woods of forever night,
it was the candle you couldn’t light.
But inward through its obsidian
roses, dragged against your will,
you followed across the frozen lake
taken by the thrill.
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