THE FLOWERLESS MONTHS ARE THE EASIEST

The flowerless months are the easiest,

when I can wither away and

retreat into nothingness,

safe from the sucking sun.

In the morning I stay in bed,

lying there, awake, right through

until noon, a skeleton arm

dangles towards bare floorboards.

 

My window is like a mirror,

a leafless tree outside my house

is reflecting me in all its decadence.

It comes alive at night, beckoning

me out into the dead world,

where I inhale and exhale ghosts,

walk over the crystal grass,

followed by two black cats,

deep into the town of the sedated.

 

CRAIG SNELGROVE

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