Trickle, Stutter, Pluck
Trickle my waxen moon
A vertical line stood
Underneath a starbeam
A trail of perfidious gilt
An obdurate lynch
Inveigling in its silence
And intimidating
My hapless stance
I teeter in the ensnare
Of a spider's web
Cloyed by superfluous
Legs and eyes
And abundant demands
Impale and crucify
Me before I oust
Myself in this
Labyrinthine vexation
Stutter as you oscillate
As I sift the serrations
Of a starless night
And a placid tension
Basking in a lagoon
I yearn for your reflection
Without the verdigris
Of the arachnid venom
I am the penumbra
Of these doom
Pluck me out this room
Trickle, stutter, pluck
I'd rather fillet
This starless night
Than to sew my skin
Into this tapestry
Of moths and
Ignorant malaise.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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