My heads come unstrung like a pearl necklace, iridescent
pellets bouncing and rolling away
under the sofa and into the cracks in the floor,
and you chase them as a maiden auntie who thinks
some things still matter.
Who still thinks she can find the very last one.
Who will search until she does.
But
arms all a-babbling and foaming mouths
formless wordless jumbles,
all I have is this length of string which
sometimes I cannot see has
barely any bead left.
Auntie says the necklace is gone,
the string empty, knowing no better:
the child telling the Emperor he is naked,
as my heads hail-storm and roll away
connections fragmenting broken
creating such havoc.
And I cannot tell.
If I get stuck here
incoherent
will you visit until
I can paste together? Climb this strange code?
You wise-ass bastard.
Help me be a bird.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.