The Superlunary Hairdryer
My skeleton, in bony dreams
Of rest in sunken quinqueremes
In dust repletes no tomb.
It wavers like a used balloon
To reprehend the gibbous moon
A flagging artefact
It crumbles like an agèd cheese
And, quite devoid of expertise,
It coats the stony plain
It hinges like a withered map
A little more, and it will snap
And shards bestrew the room
This mausoleum made of words
Is fit for only geese and birds
Condensed and tightly packed
As aircraft we once jacked
It foils the bleeding shrine
That languishes in Lichtenstein
The haunt of many a stain
Where drops of blood, in pools now dry,
Lie stinking to the fragrant sky
Portending inner gloom
| Contributors: | Roland, P, E Greejius, The Agent Apsley, Grayman. |
| Poem finished: | 2nd February 2000. |