SUBSCRIBEA STOP ALONG THE POST-APOCALYPTIC TOUR by G. O. Clark
posted February 22, 2008 under Poetry
The cuckoo clock
has turned quite sinister
in the darkened parlour of
your ancestors,
that very same room
where in ornate frames
your nightmares linger atop
a keyless piano.
Outside, the lunatic
parade flows around the
tinted windows of an idling
black stretch limo,
chauffeur asleep at the
wheel, white as piano keys,
stiff as a wooden bird’s beak,
silent as a 4 AM closet.
When the clock
cuckoos your cue, and the
impatient horn begs departure,
you bag up your scars,
exchange bony hugs
all around, and slip out into
the zombie night, next gig,
the gallows stage.
G. O. Clark
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Hmmmm…..
Comment by Tarbh — June 21, 2008 @ 2:08 am