Dark Art
Poem
by Stephen Collicoat
Still
You catch by drifting tails
Strings of balloons
Bobbing against
The damp ceiling of your tomb.
My life's mean victories.
Yet strange
This swift arena of my pain!
Nothing escapes
Your flowing fingers.
Tortured writhing
Across a floating floor.
Retreating bars.
A windowed door.
Until at length,
Dark art,
Death march down
Fleshy corridors
To the puzzled execution
Of my heart.
Dark Art© COPYRIGHT 2005 Stephen Collicoat. Reproduction prohibited without permission from the author. 02/23/05
