Decastitch #11

Street lights twitch at the scent of night

Bank machines squeak through tiny teeth

Scurrying billboards blink their eyes

His mind is full of mice, gnawing on the wires

He has no grass for snakes, no skies for hawks, no forests for foxes

His mind is full of mice, gnawing on the wires

He’s shutting down; going dark

The poison is weak

The bait is bland

His mind is full of mice, gnawing on the wires

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5 thoughts on “Decastitch #11

  1. Hi A.,

    I would like to see the tree services and the Christian ministries get together over “Mice.” I left this message at “Unlimbited Tree Services” of Glen Burnie MD. “Could we please get one of you guys to come over to Tin Hats Blog and leave a comment. I’d suggest the poem ‘Mice’ since you might have seen a few in your work. Thanks. Duke” So let us continue backward and downward, A., in our quest for nothing. Duke

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Duke. Unlimbited Tree Services should be an imprint of JMSARBD . This one is my take on depression from third person, because depression does that to you. (And yes, it works for all things that co-opt the mind in that viral sort of way: zealous rigor mortis et al: religion; ideology). I think that every writer needs a little depression. Disenchantment is where it all begins. I will wait for the Christianists to prune my troubled soul. No doubt they will fuck it all up.

      Like

  2. This is a poem with a closet full of titles. What the hell does Decastitch #11 mean? Is it from “Tommy Can’t Sleep” and some sort of South African insider rap thing? Inquiring minds want to know.

    Liked by 1 person

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