by Patricia Walsh, she/her
Disrobed at a particular hour, plain to see,
Another disaster faltering at will,
The mental photograph burning altogether
The pedant’s cries light up at another cause,
Caricatured sunlight above call of duty.
The perfunctory poverty grows at its finest
The easily interpreted punished at its time,
The alarm on standby rumbles what’s not to be
Choice of formality still a going concern.
Growing through the cold, flippant application
No evidence of abuse at a given moment
The unwary quips running through the foyer,
The policy of extermination sweeps like so,
Gone into windy endeavours onstage.
The necessity to talk, avoiding the crash.,
The closed denatured coming out to play,
Finite dawdlings engravings, what’s not to like
Another’s handiwork peppered with harmonious spray.
Click off the switches, close the doors
Mere catatonia cannot save you now,
Rescued from a loop of infinite desire,
Happiest when needed, breaking ranks again,
A born virtuoso running in tandem with slight.