Stumble and tumble do we through ages of cobwebs
And hence, tightly wrapped
Are thus forever trapped
Sepia termites have digested our ramshackle scenery
Pastel brown moths our threadbare costumes
Bluebottle larvae feast on our flesh
A bluebottle fly tumbles through ages of cobwebs
And hence, tightly sealed
By and by escapes a butterfly
Did I miss something there my dear?
The sheen on her skin the shine in her eyes
But deathly white to decay her image flies
I be a pure thread of white cotton fine
But not ‘till lovingly woven
Do a funeral shroud I weave sublime
Hand the monkeys the loom
Did I miss something there my dear?
Image “The Wounds” © David F. Brandon 2017 (With Jone Hernández and Vivien Tan)