.png)
Cannibal Royale
Tic turns to toc
Luck turns to lock
Method turns to routine
And write into rut
As naturally into entropy
These thoughts decline
The winds of yesterday
Fuel the fire
That burns work into irrelevance
Through its new and sudden failures
Like ploughing the chaff
Back under the ground
Grinding the fish into fertiliser
A fish head stares up at me
One eye agape and ruined
Asking WHY
When just yesterday you were so proud of me?
Just ash
A long length to be carefully flicked from a burned down cigarette
Beautiful
But temporary
Relentlessly time claims all method
Grinding its teeth
Upon my ankles
Until I can find new fences and channels
To guide this mess of entrails
Into a new body
Suit it up with skin and make it dance
Until once again I line new puppets
In front of the firing squad
Before feeding their carcasses to the ground too
This desk is red with the blood
Of predecessors
© David Chislett 2018
http://davidchislett.com/