Tuesday, October 31, 2017

WHITE KNIGHT SYNDROME

In this modern
day, things don't
fall apart, they

hang
together
mercilessly;

and gradually, ritual
becomes
the battleground.

Dead
and putrefactive words
on a sacrificial page

are now, each
day,
left out—bloody charity

for this demon,
this fierce,
infernal dragon—a serpent

whose alluring and
hypnotic, slithering name
isn't Duty, but

Consistency.
And every night he
crawls out,

and stretches
himself out
into this

ruthlessly straight and
infinitely
long line—which I,

in lieu of
railing against,
must go on

toeing—
just to pass
the time.

No comments:

Post a Comment

HOW DO YOU FEEL?