Or So I Would Imagine By C.Hutchcroft

Or so I would imagine: The limitless toils of a brace Of degenerate angels steeped in ecstasy Coated thick with nascence and bid farewell together In the deserts Charting sand grains As if numerically bound By a something, a puppeteer A shadow shaper Shifting angrily in the wings Gnashing upon his strings And driven sane by time.

Or so declared the crooked henchmen Throughout their saturated lives Repelled yet bound closest To the soil ground into the streets Corporeal spectres make fools of the living Hanging upon true and spiteful threads Keeping stories, hushed whispers bundled in Salubrious? More ensnared in a trap of imaginary maps With vigil kept by an imaginary watchman Or so he thought should I say. Keeping a shimmering cloak around perspective Probing its surface and charting its deepest whimpers Slipping in when necessary To wear it like a garment of Hephaestus Or the torn attire of Leda, Were the swan a blanket of razors.

Slipping again through God's window Never tempting a scream But courting silence In the cold, blind ballroom of never ending ebony With repulsed faces duly noted Like a pastiche of a pastiche of a pastiche of a satire Of a shivering corpse, embracing the heartless floor In this shadowed waiting room. The absurd distinction Will make itself heard in time, as eyelids fold Like pages in the flame, they hear, and they see it all. Smiles turn vulpine, Or so I would imagine.

Copyright ©2004  C.Hutchcroft

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