No, no internet at home until, hopefully, two haiku day. You get used to incompetence and sloth after a while in Malta, because it's largely all you can find here, but... never quite used enough to enjoy it.
Lights He turns on the lights and she sees: Wood-panelled walls, new oak she thinks, A green carpet like moss over forest floor, Vases in blue and white china filled with flowers And glass fronted display cases.
There's a light below each case And the butterflies inside are back-lit And black-lit, she realises, To bring out the hidden patterns on their wings. Something rustles.
She feels pinned in place herself, Held stationary by a sharp brass pin That paralyses without killing, And his breath on the back of her neck Smells of cheese left out in the sun.
When the lights go out and something papery Flutters against her face and rubs over her skin And the rustling is like susurration And her hands are drawn behind her back And bound...
No, no internet at home until, hopefully, two haiku day. You get used to incompetence and sloth after a while in Malta, because it's largely all you can find here, but... never quite used enough to enjoy it.
ReplyDeleteLights
He turns on the lights and she sees:
Wood-panelled walls, new oak she thinks,
A green carpet like moss over forest floor,
Vases in blue and white china filled with flowers
And glass fronted display cases.
There's a light below each case
And the butterflies inside are back-lit
And black-lit, she realises,
To bring out the hidden patterns on their wings.
Something rustles.
She feels pinned in place herself,
Held stationary by a sharp brass pin
That paralyses without killing,
And his breath on the back of her neck
Smells of cheese left out in the sun.
When the lights go out and something papery
Flutters against her face and rubs over her skin
And the rustling is like susurration
And her hands are drawn behind her back
And bound...
She does not scream.
All the pretty lights
ReplyDeleteGo round and round
For all the pretty horses.
The music plays,
For the ghosts' last ride.
Greg - well, I don't think it would be a good sign if you started enjoying it...
ReplyDeleteUgh. Delightfully creepy. And beautifully written.
Morganna - lovely bit of imagery here. Nicely done!