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Feb 2014
Chilling, to think
"social media" (whatever that means)
is really just building up halls
complete with old tattered wallpaper
for our ghosts to haunt
like a rickety Victorian mansion.

You,
Pinned to a wall by his van,
like a packet of paper
pierced by a preposterously red pushpin,
a coward is now getting off on being scared
shitless,
and overwhelmed with intoxicated rage,
because he was trying to claw his way home,
no matter the cost,
like a fearful animal,
and excuse
and excuse
and excuse us for our lack of pity.

You,
taken prematurely from your infant son,
your infant marriage,
your infant life,
you're still around, frozen.
Immortalized as you were,
tagged in photos.

"Desiree liked this"
bears an odd resemblance
to moaning from the basement
or footsteps down the hall
**** the bed
call for mom

Getting daily horoscopes
as though you still need
to figure out every detail
about your personality,
who you’re compatible with.
Virgos don't like spontaneity.
Scorpio is sensual.
Taurus are stubborn
in the way that
flowers at a tombstone
seem more sentimental
than script on a screen.

But then again the soul owns no
defined location,
no cage.

But, even more grim,
blow out the candle,
One day I'll be there too,
Plastered in white and blue,
When sleeping dogs should lie.
dedicated to Desiree Lynn Bragg.
Rest in Peace, Desiboo.
Macauley Williams
Written by
Macauley Williams  Seattle, WA
(Seattle, WA)   
950
 
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