Nothing, then the hiss of gas.
Then the flames timidly licked the air
like newborn serpents coming into
the world with dry eyes,
guiltless.
"How do you plead?"
murmured a voice from the flame.
I plead, as I always have,
for salvation, silently, but whispered
"guiltless."
And the judges dumbstruck with
echolalia hold the hiss into the night
as the trial unfolded with idiotic splendor
flames catching decayed silk open curtains of flame
while faulty memories testify, present Exhibit A:
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1 comment:
The culmination of years of trying to come to terms with Q's overdose. This is written from his perspective.
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