Janitors in a modern Macedonia,
cleaning the land of dead dogs
thrown away in sacks. Harpies
clawing down mountains in a fit, squealing
from obsession's burning pitch.
Teeth of exposed nerves
chewing on trials best left for fiction,
where hearts beat rivers
& schools never age
alongside dying fluorescent lights.
There is a spider on the ceiling, growing
off my inability to loosen from its wrap
of compulsions & migraines.
I see auras of silhouettes
imbibed on retreating radiance.
cleaning the land of dead dogs
thrown away in sacks. Harpies
clawing down mountains in a fit, squealing
from obsession's burning pitch.
Teeth of exposed nerves
chewing on trials best left for fiction,
where hearts beat rivers
& schools never age
alongside dying fluorescent lights.
There is a spider on the ceiling, growing
off my inability to loosen from its wrap
of compulsions & migraines.
I see auras of silhouettes
imbibed on retreating radiance.
