The Fall of Man

Eleven antemeridian house breaker, home wrecker
Now she’s rubble left, sustaining all her more, all her less
Memorial tumbler with a three-quarter up-ring on a bedside table
She’d got to the point, of a hanging frame off bone arrangement, but can still take real, the outside, real weather, God placed it on her neck
Outside to a whitening wilting life, with a cheap bus ticket, would-be liar to other people
Undercover station washroom where a travel mirror saw plastic flowers comb her hair, and her new self-imposed dead ears filled with wonderful wax, smiling into position
Three steps up to hours flash and stilling minutes, topographical chanting
Stiff card cases with pressure clicking clasps, then a car ride with a feigning act of a man
Bed, milk with a knife and fork, a plate with a coloured perimeter, getting to know her sister corrupted
Filling up with won’t last


*(Copyright is mine. Please contact me if you want to use or perform any of my poems.)

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Paul Welsh

Sun 3rd Sep 2017 16:36

Thanks Ferris

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