Like Clockwork (For The Mentally Cursed)
Sadness struck
like clockwork,
a chain across the cheek,
linking life’s blood
to its drain.
There was no joy
that could not be exchanged
for despair; a disrepair
of synapse that collapsed
the soul,
made holes in wholeness
customary,
burst the midrange, found pain fresh
each go,
as if locks overflown
had never been breached, as if the beseeching
of God or DNA
were not a speech
in a much-aired play–
a to-be, a wherefore-art, a who-goes-
there?
a not-I,
defiant.
***************************
A poem of sorts for a word list prompt by Grapeling (It Could Be That) on With Real Toads. It’s been edited since first posting.
The drawing is mine–a repeat I’m afraid due to busy-ness here in NYC.
ManicDDaily 
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