deepundergroundpoetry.com

cathedra

 
The clauses shattered
and you pasted them in mosaics
that when read back
were like,

like,

like a loaded 12-gauge shotgun
tied to the back of a chair,
with a dead-man’s switch on the seat.
 
I chose to bat my eyes
twirl a lock of my hair around my finger,
and take off my clothes
while standing.

The alternative was to sit in the chair.




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