( via / via )

Topkapi cat doors.

"April's Blister

Shroud-dried April’s frigid toes are dangling from the lair,
of the charnel house’s tower, deviant arsenic sun seeps in my skin;
neighbourhood couple jesting like rancid pieces of marzipan.
horribly peerless, so hurry-
violently stuff yourself with air, neatly clutch your eyeballs,
arrange them in pinholes, lest-
tenant-less cobwebs are already settling on ink;
this ceiling blazing in a monotone
fizz, holds a rusty fall which withers
down the lake of daffodils.

Peeling off my kip, a bubble wrap sprouting blood, ants
dutifully build borders and walls on white blisters, curses
on the wall shimmer in bright light; churning
out corpses- like an accident
prone area. a stale evening washes
you over like rotten bandages. dirt shovelled
with fingernails in twain; brittle, and tied
with lovers lint. Wracking dirt for an
aeon’s necropolis, my bones cave in -
weather dolls of ash, crumbling
in acrid April rain. I munch down bricks in the catacombs
of defiance of desiderating.

The floor whimpers itself white, lying under
chandeliers that loosely hang half-awake.

Still complaining about the weather, my-
plaster saint for gloom, my face scribbled over
in the posters. I’ll label the street lights huge, my
bed-sheet is the ghost. Dreams that i never had
hang from its crevices, loose skin flaps
softened by tides. The ocean is an open wound, moon has a habit
of poking it. it dutifully delivers corpses, payback; hope
is an hourglass filled with quicksand; a four lettered blister
I etched with tongs on my skin. Where are the feathers?"

—@erratumaddendum

Today's poem.

"History is basically one long record scratch of men saying, 'I’m just saying,' and then building a legal system around it." —Professor Meredith via

Instructions in an Emergency Room.