Undusted Trust

This Frankenstein of flesh

Stitched together back from death

‘The Headless Children’ lyrics by Blackie Lawless

 

A memory, dimly recalled,

has the sense of something

hollow, an echo of a dream,

that non-linear moment upon

waking, when the world,

trusted to the night’s safe-keeping,

has broken the spell

but kept the secret.

 

A requiem reaches

the dishevelled heavens,

engineered by an arcane art

and furnished with

the frustration of a Phoenix,

bound to a Prime-Material plane

by a prophet who will not relinquish

the ashes of their religion.

Creased

Mount Ironing, you bastard!

My deplorable Everest,

the seemingly unconquerable

clothing conquest,

I look up to the heavens,

I wonder if this is a test,

I want a hug, I give a shrug,

I suppose I’ll do my best.

 

Sorting through the crinkled,

wrinkled wrongdoing,

I fight back tears and rising fears

of the futility eschewing,

the impossible likelihood

of completing the task, it

looks like a war-zone

in this blasted basket.

 

It almost hurts to see the shirts

and trousers in abundance,

but the excuses to procrastinate

have finally met redundancy,

so I set the iron to steam,

the dream of pressed clothes, dawning,

but then I think, to hell with it,

I’ll do it in the morning!