When the festivals are over and the roar of celebrations wind down,
I turn myself upon the road that leads out of town.
I venture unto my door, but just before,
I turn my face to the world and beg it to stop changing.
It laughs its usual joyless laugh and then empties a brown bag of spiders onto my doorknob.
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC
When the festivals are over and the roar of celebrations wind down,
I turn myself upon the road that leads out of town.
I venture unto my door, but just before,
I turn my face to the world and beg it to stop changing.
It laughs its usual joyless laugh and then empties a brown bag of spiders onto my doorknob.
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