it’s night;
the city is lined with cocoons
and the darkness leaks all
over my wooden shoes;
the frost’s frigid claws
grasp my bony serpent;
a town morbidly mundane
hosts my tortured steps;
on this labor herculean
my feet mustn’t falter;
for somewhere out there
stuck in a crumbling crayon,
a seeress spins away
hard at my lifestrings;
making matches in the
muck mire;
fate has cursed me cold
with russian dolls;
you were my very first,
beautiful and bright;
your primordial ghost
i plan to murder tonight.
