deepundergroundpoetry.com
Spider in the Crypt
(for Neil Gaiman’s he Sandman)
This iron key tongues a door in the dark:
thread-legs stretched, skin fluttering, web-waifs in ragged
fragments. Night is heavy as treacle. Never
is a sound stone makes, feeds to the sepia sleeping
dead, whose eyes spin like saucers out of the fire,
pinned to walls with a bone-on-bone kiss.
© professoryackle (Sara Pitt) All rights reserved
This iron key tongues a door in the dark:
thread-legs stretched, skin fluttering, web-waifs in ragged
fragments. Night is heavy as treacle. Never
is a sound stone makes, feeds to the sepia sleeping
dead, whose eyes spin like saucers out of the fire,
pinned to walls with a bone-on-bone kiss.
© professoryackle (Sara Pitt) All rights reserved
Published 14th Apr 2015
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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