In Formaldehyde Jars
in placid plastic preserve -
stolen inspiration swirling
around two whirling, winged
and curling cavernicolous creatures.
do they speak, each to the other?
do they not know of their death?
they show nothing of knowing,
drifting, feebly floundering in
the slightly flowing frosted glass,
their hideous delusional dance
drives me mad!
first his, then her’s,
they had cut their own.
from the shelf I smashed them
down, & there they sit,
tormenting me in their
time detested tryst!
still they meet,
dirt specked from the floor,
hideous is the sound,
their hearts still beating,
yet for all of my groped gasping,
mine shall be heard no more.
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