“She says she glories in being abandoned”
― J. M. Barrie
the seat of forgotten
where lost dreams
are mice infested memories.
In my bones questions
pierce the eyes of those
brazen enough to walk
the spine of my decay.
From my urban throne
of abandoned the voices
of my remains crawl faded
wallpaper into the ear of fear
or into imagination that thinks
it can speak my unknown tongue.
My days tick toward an eraser,
urban lust to claim what it can never own.
When my heart is the carrion eaten
by steel jaws, my dust delivered to
a toxic grave, my spirit will remain
where it was first planted.
I’ll be the dandelion in rosy,
the chill no one can explain.
I was feeing gothic today.
