Dry Mouth Syndrome

I feel stale cardboard

with cobwebs spun like

lace upon a dusted road.


I search for myself and find only lonely woods.


The Skeleton Man

He is stripped of skin like the broken mandolin in the corner.

Ours is a world of labyrinths and sunless corners,

where bone-men rule.  I am one of the few with flesh.

In a simple operation I can sluice myself of the burden

to join the grey faces and become one with death.

He wishes for lips to join with mine, I hollows to sink into.

Eternity meets at the cleft of chins.