She Dwindled in a rocking chair,
A bag lady of finer thread
How immediate one allows fabric to take judgment.
Before the mirror
And sepia child,
Glowing dust and spinning wheels,
A hateful age writhes.

A missing reel and a moment lost
Pulled from throne, placed in quivered grip.
Caressed by a hateful hand far too steady.
Feigning comfort, adjusted gaze
To a surface of retaliation.

Eyes sunken so low,
What vision bears down on them with such force
Reserving its self a portion, a portion that would rupture
The swirling torrents of urine,
Sickly a shade too dark for cowardice,
Or crack the pupils that hover, made of the absences
Of matter in splitting wood. Asymmetrical slivered singularities,
Only inviting to the caustic product of a pistol and mortar
Wreaked upon an aspiration.

Fawning over my skull like a serpent would an egg.
The phallic reptilian smile,
Poisons whatever is left.

This poem was written/submitted by Alexander Nolen Mikrut.