all the days of a life
in misery’s company
its dark bird upon the shoulder
visible to none but its host
but not in mirrors.
its hooks,
in the trapezius,
do not disturb much
unless rebellious thoughts foment.
it tells
what may say
what may think
what is self
until at last the Self cries
bring me the hydrogen winds of the bomb,
make vapour of my body
my love
and render my bones to the sun.

1 Comment

  1. gizzylaw says:

    Again, I love this.

    Liked by 1 person

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