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Dark Trousseau

In the stillness of a feckless hum from a dark  
trousseau and cold winds spilling ink in deep  
quarters from my mind's obituary of Cynide's  
dysentery coming in from the cold only to scalp  
the womb of the sarcophagus and then crow
the parable of Twilight's anonymous listening  
to the worms charm the barcode off my shelflife  
fading into the compost of gluttonous souls  
stirring the roux making glue for your father's  
mustache and walking shoes in the stillness  
of a feckless hum from a dark trousseau  
Written by adagio
Published
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