That pang that now and then,
out-of-the-blue, nails the heart
to an ill-begotten Post.
The horney crown weighs heavy
on the pate; the Dim Dums Down,
sinks ‘neath a late stroke of fate.
The Haunting ever on, freezes the
veins en frisson. Ajerk, stiff, the
cold call hooked, the dull memory
nabbed and booked.
The cell familiar, the wall awaiting
the markings to be counted on til
time runs out and the old ticker
can count no more.
Walk away with nothing but what was
given to Be Shared; the Stig will drip
‘til the Sober Fiend finds his due, then
to crank the Guilty-Screw.
poetastrophy 