Stasis to stasis,
stations of the cross
lost in a basement
beneath some planar baseline.
I hate time.
I'd rather daisy chain rhymes
like claymores arranged
in gateways;
bouquets of daffodils
and baby's breath
on a grave.
Slain means dead,
they say.
They say a lot of things.
Sep 19, 2019
Sep 19, 2019 at 10:55 PM UTC
Stasis to stasis,
stations of the cross
lost in a basement
beneath some planar baseline.
I hate time.
I'd rather daisy chain rhymes
like claymores arranged
in gateways;
bouquets of daffodils
and baby's breath
on a grave.
Slain means dead,
they say.
They say a lot of things.
Request permission to use this poem